UC-HWfF, 


o 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Mary  Randall 


/  Jv* 

/  0  o 


.    I    (JA/KI)   IN   OPKN-MOUTHKI)   WONDER  " 


THE    ENCHANTED 
TYPE-WRITER 


BY 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 

ILLUSTRATED 
BY    PETER    NEWELL 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

1899 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


THE  DREAMRRS:  A  CLUB. 
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COFFEE  A NDREPARTKE  and 

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NK\V    YORK    AND    LONDON  : 
HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  HARPBK  k  BROTHERS. 


All  rij/Htt  nun-til. 


ACCEM.  NO 

&S,  f.Pau 

GIFT 


-243 


957 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I.  THE  DISCOVERY 1 

II.  MR.  BOSWELL  IMPARTS  SOME  LATE 

NEWS  OF  HADES 18 

III.  FROM  ADVANCE  SHEETS  OP  BARON 

MUNCHAUSEN'S  FURTHER  REC 
OLLECTIONS     34 

IV.  A  CHAT  WITH  XANTHIPPE     ...  52 
V.  THE  EDITING  OF  XANTHIPPE  ...  69 

VI.  THE  BOSWELL  TOURS  :  PERSONALLY 

CONDUCTED      ....'..  85 

VII.  AN  IMPORTANT  DECISION   ....  102 

VIII.  A  HAND-BOOK  TO  HADES  ....  118 

IX.  SHERLOCK  HOLMES  AGAIN  ....  131 

X.  GOLF  IN  HADES      .  157 


M85598G 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

...  I  GAZED  IN  OPEN  -  MOUTHED 
WONDER " Frontispiece 

...  TATTOOED  THE  JINGLE  BE 
TWEEN  MY  SHOULDER  BLADES"  Facing  p.  30 

CATHODE  -  RAY    PHOTOGRAPH    OF 

THE  WHALE,   SHOWING   MYSELF 

.  .  .  INSIDE" "  48 

'I  FELT  AS  IF  I  HAD  COMMITTED 

SOME  DREADFUL  FAUX  PAS "  .  .  "  54 
1  HENRY  THE  EIGHTH  .  .  .  WAS 

MUCH  ENRAGED,  AND  WITHDREW 

HIS  ADVERTISEMENTS  "...  "  82 
'  LOUIS  THE  FOURTEENTH  .  .  . 

MASTERING  THE  INTRICACIES  OF 

THE  OVERHEAD  WIRE"  ...  "  100 
1  .  .  .  CARRIED  HIM  TO  THE  END 

OF  THE   WHARF  AND  DROPPED 

HIM  INTO  THE  STYX "  ....        "        108 

V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

".      .      .      INJURED     BY    THE    BALLS 

OP    FIRE    WHICH     THE    DRAGON 

BREATHED  OUT  " Facing  p.  126 

"  '  TURN  THAT  INFERNAL  THING  THE 

OTHER  WAY  !'  HE  SHRIEKED  "  .  "  154 

"  'OLD  PETER  STUYVESANT,  FOR  IN- 

STANCB,    ALWAYS    DRIVES    WITH 

HIS    WOODEN    LEG  '  "     .  "          162 


THE  ENCHANTED  TYPE -WHITER 


THE 
ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITEK 


THE   DISCOVERY 

IT  is  a  strange  fact,  for  which  I  do  not 
expect  ever  satisfactorily  to  account,  and 
which  will  receive  little  credence  even 
among  those  who  know  that  I  am  not 
given  to  romancing — it  is  a  strange  fact, 
I  say,  that  the  substance  of  the  follow 
ing  pages  has  evolved  itself  during  a  pe 
riod  of  six  months,  more  or  less,  be 
tween  the  hours  of  midnight  and  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  proceeding  di 
rectly  from  a  type-writing  machine  stand 
ing  in  the  corner  of  my  library,  manipu 
lated  by  unseen  hands.  The  machine  is 
A  1 


THE   ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITER 

not  of  recent  make.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  relic 
of  the  early  seventies,  which  I  discovered 
one  morning  when,  suffering  from  a  slight 
attack  of  the  grip,  I  had  remained  at 
home  and  devoted  my  time  to  pottering 
about  in  the  attic,  unearthing  old  books, 
bringing  to  light  long -forgotten  corre 
spondences,  my  boyhood  collections  of 
"  stuff,"  and  other  memory  -  inducing 
things.  Whence  the  machine  came  origi 
nally  I  do  not  recall.  My  impression  is 
that  it  belonged  to  a  stenographer  once 
in  the  employ  of  my  father,  who  used  fre 
quently  to  come  to  our  house  to  take 
down  dictations.  However  this  may  be, 
the  machine  had  lain  hidden  by  dust  and 
the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  house  for 
twenty  years,  when,  as  I  have  said,  I  came 
upon  it  unexpectedly.  Old  man  as  I  am — 
I  shall  soon  be  thirty — the  fascination  of 
a  machine  has  lost  none  of  its  potency. 
I  am  as  pleased  to-day  watching  the  wheels 
of  my  watch  "go  round"  as  ever  I  was, 
and  to  "monkey"  with  a  type-writing  ap 
paratus  has  always  brought  great  joy  into 
2 


THE    DISCOVERY 

my  heart — though  for  composing  give  me 
the  pen.  Perhaps  I  should  apologize  for 
the  use  here  of  the  verb  monkey,  which 
savors  of  what  a  friend  of  mine  calls  the 
"  English  slanguage/'  to  differentiate  it 
from  what  he  also  calls  the  "  Andrew 
Language."  But  I  shall  not  do  so,  be 
cause,  to  whatever  branch  of  our  tongue 
the  word  may  belong,  it  is  exactly  de 
scriptive,  and  descriptive  as  no  other 
word  can  be,  of  what  a  boy  does  with 
things  that  click  and  "go,"  and  is  there 
fore  not  at  all  out  of  place  in  a  tale 
which  I  trust  will  be  regarded  as  a  polite 
one. 

The  discovery  of  the  machine  put  an 
end  to  my  attic  potterings.  I  cared  little 
for  finding  old  bill-files  and  collections  of 
Atlantic  cable  -  ends  when,  with  a  whole 
morning,  a  type-writing  machine,  and  a 
screw-driver  before  me  I  could  penetrate 
the  mysteries  of  that  useful  mechanism. 
I  shall  not  endeavor  to  describe  the  de 
lightful  sensations  of  that  hour  of  screw 
ing  and  unscrewing;  they  surpass  the 
8 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

powers  of  my  pen.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
I  took  the  whole  apparatus  apart,  cleaned 
it  well,  oiled  every  joint,  and  then  put  it 
together  again.  I  do  not  suppose  a  seven- 
year-old  boy  could  have  derived  more  sat 
isfaction  from  taking  a  piano  to  pieces. 
It  was  exhilarating,  and  I  resolved  that 
as  a  reward  for  the  pleasure  it  had  given 
me  the  machine  should  have  a  brand-new 
ribbon  and  as  much  ink  as  it  could  con 
sume.  And  that,  in  brief,  is  how  it  came 
to  be  that  this  machine  of  antiquated  pat 
tern  was  added  to  the  library  bric-a-brac. 
To  say  the  truth,  it  was  of  no  more  practi 
cal  use  than  Barye's  dancing  bear,  a  plaster 
cast  of  which  adorns  my  mantel-shelf,  so 
that  when  I  classify  it  with  the  bric-a-brac 
I  do  so  advisedly.  I  frequently  tried  to 
write  a  jest  or  two  upon  it,  but  the  results 
were  extraordinarily  like  Sir  Arthur  Sul 
livan's  experience  with  the  organ  into 
whose  depths  the  lost  chord  sank,  never 
to  return.  I  dashed  off  the  jests  well 
enough,  but  somewhere  between  the  keys 
and  the  types  they  were  lost,  and  the  re- 
4 


THE    DISCOVERY 

suits,  when  I  came  to  scan  the  paper,  were 
depressing.  And  once  I  tried  a  sonnet  on 
the  keys.  Exactly  how  to  classify  the 
jumble  that  came  out  of  it  I  do  not  know, 
but  it  was  curious  enough  to  have  ap 
pealed  strongly  to  D'Israeli  or  any  other 
collector  of  the  literary  oddity.  More  sin 
gular  than  the  sonnet,  though,  was  the 
fact  that  when  I  tried  to  write  my  name 
upon  this  strange  machine,  instead  of 
finding  it  in  all  its  glorious  length  written 
upon  the  paper,  I  did  find  "William 
Shakespeare "  printed  there  in  its  stead. 
Of  course  you  will  say  that  in  putting  the 
machine  together  I  mixed  up  the  keys  and 
the  letters.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  did, 
but  when  I  tell  you  that  there  have  been 
times  when,  looking  at  myself  in  the  glass, 
I  have  fancied  that  I  saw  in  my  mirrored 
face  the  lineaments  of  the  great  bard  ; 
that  the  contour  of  my  head  is  precisely 
the  same  as  was  his ;  that  when  visiting 
Stratford  for  the  first  time  every  foot  of 
it  was  pregnant  with  clearly  defined  recol 
lections  to  me,  you  will  perhaps  more 
5 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

easily  picture  to  yourself  my  sensations 
at  the  moment. 

However,  enough  of  describing  the  ma 
chine  in  its  relation  to  myself.  I  have 
said  sufficient,  I  think,  to  convince  you 
that  whatever  its  make,  its  age,  and  its 
limitations,  it  was  an  extraordinary  affair ; 
and,  once  convinced  of  that,  you  may  the 
more  readily  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  it  has  gone  into  business  apparently 
for  itself — and  incidentally  for  me. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  2Gth  of 
March  last  that  I  discovered  the  curious 
condition  of  affairs  concerning  which  I 
have  essayed  to  write.  My  family  do  not 
agree  with  me  as  to  the  date.  They 
say  that  it  was  on  the  evening  of  the 
25th  of  March  that  the  episode  had  its 
beginning ;  but  they  are  not  aware,  for 
I  have  not  told  them,  that  it  was  not 
evening,  but  morning,  when  I  reached 
home  after  the  dinner  at  the  Aldus  Club. 
It  was  at  a  quarter  of  three  A.M.  precise 
ly  that  I  entered  my  house  and  proceed 
ed  to  remove  rnv  hat  and  coat,  in  which 


THE    DISCOVERY 

operation  I  was  interrupted,  and  in  a  star 
tling  manner,  by  a  click  from  the  dark  re 
cesses  of  the  library.  A  man  does  not 
like  to  hear  a  click  which  he  cannot  com 
prehend,  even  before  he  has  dined.  After 
he  has  dined,  however,  and  feels  a  satis 
faction  with  life  which  cannot  come  to 
him  before  dinner,  to  hear  a  mysterious 
click,  and  from  a  dark  corner,  at  an  hour 
when  the  world  is  at  rest,  is  not  pleasing. 
To  say  that  my  heart  jumped  into  my 
mouth  is  mild.  I  believe  it  jumped  out 
of  my  mouth  and  rebounded  against  the 
wall  opposite  back  through  my  system 
into  my  boots.  All  the  sins  of  my  past 
life,  and  they  are  many — I  once  stepped 
upon  a  caterpillar,  and  I  have  coveted  my 
neighbor  both  his  man-servant  and  his 
maid-servant,  though  not  his  wife  nor  his 
ox  nor  his  ass,  because  I  don't  like  his 
wife  and  he  keeps  no  live-stock — all  my 
sins,  I  say,  rose  up  before  me,  for  I  ex 
pected  every  moment  that  a  bullet  would 
penetrate  my  brain,  or  my  heart  if  per 
chance  the  burglar  whom  I  suspected  of 
7 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

levelling  a  clicking  revolver  at  me  aimed 
at  my  feet. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  I  cried,  making  a 
vocal  display  of  bravery  1  did  not  feel, 
hiding  behind  our  hair  sofa. 

The  only  answer  was  another  click. 

"  This  is  serious,"  I  whispered  softly 
to  myself.  "  There  are  two  of  'ein;  I  am 
in  the  light,  unarmed.  They  are  conceal 
ed  by  the  darkness  and  have  revolvers. 
There  is  only  one  way  out  of  this,  and 
that  is  by  strategy.  I'll  pretend  I  think 
I've  made  a  mistake."  So  I  addressed 
myself  aloud. 

"  What  an  idiot  you  are,"  I  said,  so 
that  my  words  could  be  heard  by  the 
burglars.  "If  this  is  the  effect  of  Aldus 
Club  dinners  you'd  better  give  them  up. 
That  click  wasn't  a  click  at  all,  but  the 
ticking  of  our  new  eight-day  clock." 

I  paused,  and  from  the  corner  there 
came  a  dozen  more  clicks  in  quick  suc 
cession,  like  the  cocking  of  as  many  re 
volvers. 

" Great  Heavens!"  I  murmured,  under 
8 


THE    DISCOVERY 

my  breath.  "  It  must  be  All  Baba  with 
his  forty  thieves." 

As  I  spoke,  the  mystery  cleared  itself, 
for  following  close  upon  a  thirteenth 
click  came  the  gentle  ringing  of  a  bell, 
and  I  knew  then  that  the  type-writing  ma 
chine  was  in  action;  but  this  was  by  no 
means  a  reassuring  discovery.  Who  or 
what  could  it  be  that  was  engaged  upon 
the  type  -  writer  at  that  unholy  hour,  3 
A.M.  ?  If  a  mortal  being,  why  was  my 
coming  no  interruption  ?  If  a  supernat 
ural  being,  what  infernal  complication 
might  not  the  immediate  future  have  in 
store  for  me  ? 

My  first  impulse  was  to  flee  the  house, 
to  go  out  into  the  night  and  pace  the  fields 
—  possibly  to  rush  out  to  the  golf  links 
and  play  a  few  holes  in  the  dark  in  order  to 
cool  my  brow,  which  was  rapidly  becoming 
fevered.  Fortunately,  however,  I  am  not 
a  man  of  impulse.  I  never  yield  to  a  mere 
nerve  suggestion,  and  so,  instead  of  going 
out  into  the  storm  and  certainly  contract 
ing  pneumonia,  I  walked  boldly  into  the 
9 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

library  to  investigate  the  causes  of  the 
very  extraordinary  incident.  You  may 
rest  well  assured,  however,  that  I  took  care 
to  go  armed,  fortifying  myself  with  a  stout 
stick,  with  a  long,  ugly  steel  blade  concealed 
within  it — a  cowardly  weapon, by-the- way, 
which  I  permit  to  rest  in  my  house  merely 
because  it  forms  a  part  of  a  collection  of 
weapons  acquired  through  the  failure  of  a 
comic  paper  to  which  I  had  contributed 
several  articles.  The  editor,  when  the 
crash  came,  sent  me  the  collection  as  part 
payment  of  what  was  owed  me,  which  I 
think  was  very  good  of  him, because  a  great 
many  people  said  that  it  was  my  stuff  that 
killed  the  paper.  But  to  return  to  the 
story.  Fortifying  myself  with  the  sword- 
cane,  I  walked  boldly  into  the  library, 
and,  touching  the  electric  button,  soon 
had  every  gas-jet  in  the  room  giving  forth 
a  brilliant  flame;  but  these,  brilliant  as 
they  were,  disclosed  nothing  in  the  chair 
before  the  machine. 

The  latter,  apparently  oblivious  of  my 
presence,  went  clicking  merrily  and  as  rap- 
10 


THE    DISCOVERY 

idly  along  as  though  some  expert  young 
woman  were  in  charge.  Imagine  the  situa 
tion  if  }rou  can.  A  type-writing  machine 
of  ancient  make,  its  letters  clear,  but  out 
of  accord  with  the  keys,  confronted  by  an 
empty  chair,  three  hours  after  midnight, 
rattling  off  page  after  page  of  something 
which  might  or  might  not  be  readable,  I 
could  not  at  the  moment  determine.  For 
two  or  three  minutes  I  gazed  in  open- 
mouthed  wonder.  I  was  not  frightened, 
but  I  did  experience  a  sensation  which 
comes  from  contact  with  the  uncanny.  As 
I  gradually  grasped  the  situation  and  be 
came  used,  somewhat,  to  what  was  going 
on,  I  ventured  a  remark. 

"  This  beats  the  deuce  I"  I  observed. 

The  machine  stopped  for  an  instant. 
The  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  the  im 
pressions  of  the  letters  were  being  made 
flew  out  from  under  the  cylinder,  a 
pure  white  sheet  was  as  quickly  sub 
stituted,  and  the  keys  clicked  off  the 
line  : 

"What  does?" 

11 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

I  presumed  the  line  was  in  response  to 
my  assertion,  so  I  replied  : 

"Yon  do.  What  uncanny  freak  has 
taken  possession  of  you  to-night  that  you 
start  in  to  write  on  your  own  hook,  having 
resolutely  declined  to  do  any  writing  for 
me  ever  since  I  rescued  you  from  the  dust 
and  dirt  and  cobwebs  of  the  attic  ?" 

"  You  never  rescued  me  from  any  attic," 
the  machine  replied.  "  You'd  better  go 
to  bed  ;  you've  dined  too  well,  I  imag 
ine.  When  did  you  rescue  me  from  the 
dust  and  dirt  and  the  cobwebs  of  any 
attic  ?" 

"  What  an  ungrateful  machine  you  are  !" 
I  cried.  "  If  you  have  sense  enough  to 
go  into  writing  on  your  own  account,  yon 
ought  to  have  mind  enough  to  remember 
the  years  you  spent  up-stairs  under  the 
roof  neglected,  and  covered  with  ham 
mocks,  awnings,  family  portraits,  and 
receipted  bills." 

"  Really,  my  dear  fellow,"  the  machine 
tapped  back,  "  I  must  repeat  it.  Bed  is 
the  place  for  you.  You're  not  coherent. 
12 


THE    DISCOVERY 

I'm  not  a  machine,,  and  upon  my  honor, 
I've  never  seen  you're  darned  old  attic." 

"Not  a  machine!"  I  cried.  "Then 
what  in  Heaven's  name  are  you  ? — a  sofa- 
cushion  ?" 

"Don't  be  sarcastic,  my  dear  fellow," 
replied  the  machine.  "Of  course  I'm 
not  a  machine  ;  I'm  Jim — Jim  Boswell." 

"What  ?"  I  roared.  "You  ?  A  thing 
with  keys  and  type  and  a  bell — 

"I  haven't  got  any  keys  or  any  type  or 
a  bell.  What  on  earth  are  you  talking 
about  ?"  replied  the  machine.  "  What 
have  you  been  eating  ?" 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  putting  my 
hand  on  the  keys. 

"That's  keys,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  these,  and  that  ?"  I  added,  indi 
cating  the  type  and  the  bell. 

"Type  and  bell,"  replied  the  machine. 

"And  yet  you  say  you  haven't  got 
them,"  I  persisted. 

"No,  I  haven't.  The  machine  has  got 
them,  not  I,"  was  the  response.  "I'm 
not  the  machine.  I'm  the  man  that's 
13 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

rising  it— Jim— Jim  Boswell.  What  good 
would  a  bell  do  me  ?  I'm  not  a  cow  or  a 
bicycle.  I'm  the  editor  of  the  Stygian 
Gazette,  and  I've  come  here  to  copy  off 
my  notes  of  what  I  see  and  hear,  and  be 
sides  all  this  I  do  type-writing  for  various 
people  in  Hades,  and  as  this  machine  of 
yours  seemed  to  be  of  no  use  to  you  I 
thought  Fd  try  it.  But  if  you  object, 
I'll  go." 

As  I  read  these  lines  upon  the  paper  I 
stood  amazed  and  delighted. 

"  Go  !"  I  cried,  as  the  full  value  of  his 
patronage  of  my  machine  dawned  upon 
me,  for  I  could  sell  his  copy  and  he  would 
be  none  the  worse  off,  for,  as  1  understand 
the  copyright  laws,  they  are  not  designed 
to  benefit  authors,  but  for  the  protection 
of  type-setters.  "  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  it 
would  break  my  heart  if,  having  found  my 
machine  to  your  taste,  you  should  ever 
think  of  using  another.  I'll  lend  you  my 
bicycle,  too,  if  you'd  like  it— in  fact,  any 
thing  I  have  is  at  your  command." 

"Thank  you  very  much, "returned  Bos- 
14 


THE    DISCOVERY 

well  through  the  medium  of  the  keys,  as 
usual.  "I  shall  not  need  your  bicycle, 
but  this  machine  is  of  great  value  to  rne. 
It  has  several  very  remarkable  qualities 
which  I  have  never  found  in  any  other 
machine.  For  instance,  singular  to  re 
late,  Mendelssohn  and  I  were  fooling  about 
here  the  other  night,  and  when  he  saw 
this  machine  he  thought  it  was  a  spinet 
of  some  new  pattern  ;  so  what  does  he  do 
but  sit  down  and  play  me  one  of  his  songs 
without  words  on  it,  and,  by  jove  !  when 
he  got  through,  there  was  the  theme  of 
the  whole  thing  printed  on  a  sheet  of 
paper  before  him." 

"You  don't  really  mean  to  say — "  I 
began. 

"Fm  telling  you  precisely  what  hap 
pened,"  said  Boswell.  "  Mendelssohn  was 
tickled  to  death  with  it,  and  he  played 
every  song  without  words  that  he  ever 
wrote,  and  every  one  of  'em  was  fitted 
with  words  which  he  said  absolutely  con 
veyed  the  ideas  he  meant  to  bring  out 
with  the  music.  Then  I  tried  the  ma- 
15 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

chine,  and  discovered  another  curious 
thing  about  it.  It's  intensely  American. 
I  had  a  story  of  Alexander  Dumas'  about 
his  Musketeers  that  he  wanted  translated 
from  French  into  American,  which  is  the 
language  we  speak  below,  in  preference  to 
German,  French,  Volapiik,  or  English. 
I  thought  Fd  copy  off  a  few  lines  of  the 
French  original,  and  as  true  as  I'm  sitting 
here  before  your  eyes,  where  you  can't 
see  me,  the  copy  I  got  was  a  good,  though 
rather  free,  translation.  Think  of  it  ! 
That's  an  advanced  machine  for  you !" 

I  looked  at  the  machine  wistfully.  "  I 
wish  I  could  make  it  work,"  I  said ;  and 
I  tried  as  before  to  tap  off  my  name,  and 
got  instead  only  a  confused  jumble  of  let 
ters.  It  wouldn't  even  pay  me  the  com 
pliment  of  transforming  my  name  into 
that  of  Shakespeare,  as  it  had  previously 
done. 

It  was  thus  that  the  magic  qualities  of 

the  machine  were  made  known  to  me,  and 

out  of  it  the  following  papers  have  grown. 

I  have  set  them  down  without  much  edit- 

16 


THE    DISCOVERY 

ing  or  alteration,,  and  now  submit  them 
to  your  inspection,,  hoping  that  in  perus 
ing  them  you  will  derive  as  much  satis 
faction  and  delight  as  I  have  in  being  the 
possessor  of  so  wonderful  a  machine,  ma 
nipulated  by  so  interesting  a  person  as 
"  Jim — Jim  Boswell" — as  he  always  calls 
himself — and  others,  who,  as  you  will 
note,  if  perchance  you  have  the  patience 
to  read  further,  have  upon  occasions  hon 
ored  my  machine  by  using  it. 

I  must  add  in  behalf  of  my  own  repu 
tation  for  honesty  that  Mr.  Boswell  has 
given  to  me  all  right,  title,  and  interest 
in  these  papers  in  this  world  as  a  return 
for  my  permission  to  him  to  use  my  ma 
chine. 

"What  if  they  make  a  hit  and  bring  in 
barrels  of  gold  in  royalties,"  he  said.  "I 
can't  take  it  back  with  me  where  I  live, 
so  keep  it  yourself." 


JI 


MR.   BOSWELL   IMPARTS   SOME    LATE   NEWS 
OF   HADES 

BOSWELL  was  a  little  late  in  arriving 
the  next  night.  He  had  agreed  to  be  on 
hand  exactly  at  midnight,  but  it  was  after 
one  o'clock  before  the  machine  began  to 
click  and  the  bel  1  to  ring.  I  had  fallen  asleep 
in  the  soft  upholstered  depths  of  my  arm 
chair,  feeling  pretty  thoroughly  worn  out 
by  the  experiences  of  the  night  before, 
which,  in  spite  of  their  pleasant  issue, 
were  nevertheless  somewhat  disturbing  to 
a  nervous  organization  like  mine:  Sud 
denly  I  waked,  and  with  the  awakening 
there  entered  into  my  mind  the  notion 
that  the  whole  thing  was  merely  a  dream, 
and  that  in  the  end  it  would  be  the  but 
ter  for  me  if  I  were  to  give  up  Aldus  and 
18 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

other  club  dinners  with  nightmare  in 
ducing  menus.  But  I  was  soon  convinced 
that  the  real  state  of  affairs  was  quite 
otherwise,  and  that  everything  really  had 
happened  as  I  have  already  related  it  to 
you,  for  I  had  hardly  gotten  my  eyes  free 
from  what  my  poetic  son  calls  "  the  seeds 
of  sleep"  when  I  heard  the  type -writer 
tap  forth : 

"  Hello,  old  man  I" 

Incidentally  let  me  say  that  this  had 
become  another  interesting  feature  of  the 
machine.  Since  my  first  interview  with 
Boswell  the  taps  seemed  to  speak,  and  if 
some  one  were  sitting  before  it  and  writ 
ing  a  line  the  mere  differentiation  of 
sounds  of  the  various  keys  would  convey 
to  the  mind  the  ideas  conveyed  to  it  by 
the  printed  words.  So,  as  I  say,  my  ears 
were  greeted  with  a  clicking  "  Hello,  old 
man  I"  followed  immediately  by  the  bell. 

"You  are  late,"  said  I,  looking  at  my 
watch. 

"  I  know  it,"  was  the  response.  e(  But 
I  can't  help  it.  During  the  campaign  I 
19 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WHITER 

am  kept  so  infernally  busy  I  hardly  know 
where  I  am." 

"Campaign,  eh  ?"  I  put  in.  "Do  you 
have  campaigns  in  Hades  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Boswell,  "and  we  are 
having  a  —  well,  to  be  polite,  a  regular 
Gehenna  of  a  time.  Things  have  changed 
much  in  Hades  latterly.  There  has  been 
a  great  growth  in  the  democratic  spirit 
below,  and  his  Majesty  is  having  a  deuce 
of  a  time  running  his  kingdom.  Wash 
ington  and  Cromwell  and  Caesar  have  had 
the  nerve  to  demand  a  constitution  from 
the  venerable  Nicholas — " 

"  From  whom  ?"  I  queried,  perplexed 
somewhat,  for  I  was  not  yet  fully  awake. 

"Old  Nick,"  replied  Boswell;  "and  I 
can  tell  you  there's  a  pretty  fight  on  be 
tween  the  supporters  of  the  administra 
tion  and  the  opposition.  Secure  in  his 
power,  the  Grand  Master  of  Hades  has 
been  somewhat  arbitrary,  and  he  has  made 
the  mistake  of  doing  some  of  his  subjects 
a  little  too  brown.  Take  the  case  of  Bona- 
pajrte,  for  instance  :  the  government  has 
20 


SOME    LATE    NEWS    OF    HADES 

ruled  that  he  wag  personally  responsible 
for  all  the  wars  of  Europe  from  1800  up 
to  Waterloo,  and  it  was  proposed  to  hang 
him  once  for  every  man  killed  on  either 
side  throughout  that  period.  Bonaparte 
naturally  resisted.  He  said  he  had  a  good 
neck,  which  he  did  not  object  to  have 
broken  three  or  four  times,  because  he 
admitted  he  deserved  it  ;  but  when  it 
came  to  hanging  him  five  or  six  million 
times,  once  a  month,  for,  say,  five  million 
months,  or  twelve  times  a  year  for  415,000 
years,  he  didn't  like  it,  and  wouldn't  stand 
it,  and  wanted  to  submit  the  question  to 
arbitration. 

"Nicholas  observed  that  the  word  ar 
bitration  was  not  in  his  especially  expur 
gated  dictionary,  whereupon  Bonaparte 
remarked  that  he  wasn't  responsible  for 
that ;  that  he  thought  it  a  good  word  and 
worthy  of  incorporation  in  any  diction 
ary  and  in  all  vocabularies. 

"  i  I  don't  care  what  you  think/  retort 
ed  his  Majesty.  '  It's  what  I  don't  think 
that  goes;'  and  he  commanded  his  imps 
21 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

to  prepare  the  gallows  on  the  third  Thurs 
day  of  each  month  for  Bonaparte's  ex 
piation  ;  ordered  his  secretary  to  send 
Bonaparte  a  type- written  notice  that  his 
presence  on  each  occasion  was  expected, 
and  gave  orders  to  the  police  to  see  that 
he  was  there  willy-nilly.  Naturally  Bona 
parte  resisted,  and  appealed  to  the  courts. 
Blackstone  sustained  his  appeal,  and  Nich 
olas  overruled  him.  The  first  Thursday 
came,  and  the  police  went  for  the  Em 
peror,  but  he  was  surrounded  by  a  good 
half  of  the  men  who  had  fought  under 
him,  and  the  minions  of  the  law  could  do 
nothing  against  them.  In  consequence, 
Bonaparte's  brother,  Joseph,  a  quiet,  in- 
oilensive  citizen,  was  drugged  from  his 
home  and  hanged  in  his  place,  Nicholas 
contending  that  when  a  soldier  could  not, 
or  would  not,  serve,  the  government  had 
a  right  to  expect  a  substitute.  Well/'  said 
Boswell,  at  this  point,  "  that  set  all  Hades 
on  fire.  We  were  divided  as  to  Bona 
parte's  deserts,  but  the  hanging  of  other 
people  as  substitutes  was  too  much.  We 
22 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

didn't  know  who'd  be  substituted  next. 
The  English  backed  up  Blackstone,  of 
course.  The  French  army  backed  up 
Bonaparte.  The  inoffensive  citizens  were 
aroused  in  behalf  of  Joseph,  for  they  saw 
at  once  whither  they  were  drifting  if  the 
substitute  idea  was  carried  out  to  its 
logical  conclusion  ;  and  in  half  an  hour 
the  administration  was  on  the  defensive, 
which,  as  you  know,  is  a  very,  very,  very 
bad  thing  for  an  administration." 

"It  is,  if  it  desires  to  be  returned  to 
office, "  said  I. 

"  It  is  anyhow/5  replied  Boswell  through 
the  medium  of  the  keys.  "  It's  in  exactly 
the  same  position  as  that  of  a  humorist 
who  has  to  print  explanatory  diagrams 
with  all  of  his  jokes.  The  administration 
papers  were  hot  over  the  situation.  The 
king  can  do  no  wrong  idea  was  worked 
for  all  it  was  worth,  but  beyond  this  they 
drew  pathetic  pictures  of  the  result  of  all 
these  deplorable  tendencies.  What  was 
Hades  for,  they  asked,  if  a  man,  after 
leading  a  life  of  crime  in  the  other  world, 
23 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

was  not  to  receive  his  punishment  there  ? 
The  attitude  of  the  opposition  was  a  radi 
cal  and  vicious  blow  at  the  vital  principles 
of  the  sphere  itself.  The  opposition  pa 
pers  coolly  and  calmly  took  the  position 
that  the  vital  principles  of  Hades  were  all 
right ;  that  it  was  the  extreme  view  as  to 
the  power  of  the  Emperor  taken  by  that 
person  himself  that  wouldn't  go  in  these 
democratic  days.  Punishment  for  Bona 
parte  was  the  correct  thing,  and  Bona 
parte  expected  some,  but  was  not  grasp 
ing  enough  to  want  it  all.  They  added 
that  recent  fully  settled  ideas  as  to  a  hu 
mane  application  of  the  laws  required  the 
bunching  of  the  indictments  or  the  selec 
tion  of  one  and  a  fair  trial  based  upon 
that,  and  that  anyhow,  under  no  circum 
stances,  should  a  wholly  innocent  person 
be  made  to  suffer  for  the  crimes  of  an 
other.  These  journals  were  suppressed, 
but  the  next  day  a  set  of  new  papers  were 
started  to  promulgate  the  same  theories 
as  to  individual  rights.  The  province  of 
Cimrneria  declared  itself  independent  of 
24 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

the  throne,  and  set  up  in  the  business  of 
government  for  itself.  Gehenna  declared 
for  the  Emperor,  but  insisted  upon  home 
rule  for  cities  of  its  own  class,  and  finally, 
as  I  informed  you  at  the  beginning,  Wash 
ington,  Cromwell,  and  Caesar  went  in  per 
son  to  Apollyon  and  demanded  a  consti 
tution.  That  was  day  before  yesterday, 
and  just  what  will  come  of  it  we  don't  as 
yet  know,  because  Washington  and  Crom 
well  and  Coesar  have  not  been  seen  since, 
but  we  have  great  fears  for  them,  because 
seventeen  car-loads  of  vitriol  and  a  thou 
sand  extra  tons  of  coal  were  ordered  by 
the  Lord  High  Steward  of  the  palace  to 
be  delivered  to  the  Minister  of  Justice 
last  night." 

"  Quite  a  complication,"  said  I.  "  The 
Americanization  of  Hades  has  begun  at 
last.  How  does  society  regard  the  affair  ?" 

"Variously,"  observed  Boswell.  "So 
ciety  hates  the  government  as  much  as 
anybody,  and  really  believes  in  curtailing 
the  Emperor's  powers,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  desires  to  maintain  all  of  its  own 
25 


TUB    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

aristocratic  privileges.  The  main  trouble 
in  Hades  at  present  is  the  gradual  disin 
tegration  of  society ;  that  is  to  say,  its 
former  component  parts  are  beginning  to 
differentiate  themselves  the  one  from  the 
other." 

"Like    capital    and    labor    here?"    I 
queried. 

"In  a  sense,  yes  —  possibly  more  like 
your  Colonial  Dames,  and  Daughters  of 
the  Revolution.  For  instance,  great  or 
ganizations  are  in  process  of  formation 
— people  are  beginning  to  flock  together 
for  purposes  of  protection.  Charles  the 
First  and  Henry  the  Eighth  and  Louis 
the  Fourteenth  have  established  Ye  An 
cient  and  Honorable  Order  of  Kings, 
to  which  only  those  who  have  actually 
worn  crowns  shall  be  eligible.  The  paint 
ers  have  gotten  together  with  a  Society  of 
Fine  Arts,  the  sculptors  have  formed  a 
Society  of  Chisellers,  and  all  the  authors 
from  Homer  down  to  myself  have  got  up 
an  Authors'  Club  where  we  have  a  lovely 
time  talking  about  ourselves,  no  man  to 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

be  eligible  who  hasn't  written  something 
that  has  lasted  a  hundred  years.  Perhaps, 
if  you  are  thinking  of  coming  over  soon, 
you'll  let  me  put  you  on  our  waiting- 
list  ?" 

I  smiled  at  his  seeming  inconsistency 
and  let  myself  into  his  snare. 

"  I  haven't  written  anything  that  has 
lasted  a  hundred  years  yet,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  you  have,"  replied 
Boswell,  and  the  machine  seemed  to  laugh 
as  he  wrote  out  his  answer.  "  I  saw  a 
joke  of  yours  the  other  day  that's  two 
hundred  centuries  old.  Diogenes  showed 
it  to  me  and  said  that  it  was  a  great 
favorite  with  his  grandfather,  who  had 
inherited  it  from  one  of  his  remote  an 
cestors." 

A  hot  retort  was  on  my  lips,  but  I  had 
no  wish  to  offend  my  guest,  so  I  smiled 
and  observed  that  I  had  frequently  in 
dulged  in  unconscious  plagiarism  of  that 
sort. 

"  I  should  imagine,"!  hastened  to  add, 
"  that  to  men  like  Charles  the  First  this 
27 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

uncertainty  as  to  the  safety  of  Cromwell 
would  be  great  joy." 

"I  hardly  know,"  returned  Boswell. 
"  That  very  question  has  been  discussed 
among  us.  Charles  made  a  great  outward 
show  of  grief  when  he  heard  of  the  coal 
being  delivered  at  the  office  of  the  Min 
ister  of  Justice,  and  we  all  thought  him 
quite  magnanimous,  but  it  leaked  out,  just 
before  I  left  to  come  here,  that  he  sent 
his  private  secretary  to  the  palace  with 
a  Panama  hat  and  a  palm -leaf  fan  for 
Cromwell,  with  his  congratulations.  That 
seems  to  savor  somewhat  of  sarcasm." 

"  And  what  do  you  think  is  likely  to 
be  the  upshot  of  the  whole  trouble  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  Oh,  ultimately  Hades  is  bound  to  be 
a  republic,"  replied  Boswell.  "  There 
are  too  many  clever  and  ambitious  poli 
ticians  among  us  for  the  place  to  go  along 
as  a  despotism  much  longer.  If  the  place 
were  filled  up  with  poets  and  society  peo 
ple,  and  things  like  that,  it  might  go  on 
as  an  autocracy  forever,  but  you  see  it 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

isn't.  To  men  of  the  caliber  of  Alex 
ander  the  Great  and  Bonaparte  and 
Ceesar,  and  a  thousand  other  warriors  who 
never  were  used  to  taking  orders  from 
anybody,  but  were  themselves  headquar 
ters,  the  despotic  sway  of  Apollyon  is  in 
tolerable,  and  he  hasn't  made  any  effort 
to  conciliate  any  of  them.  If  he  had  ap 
pointed  Bonaparte  commander-in-chief  of 
his  army  and  made  a  friend  of  him,  in 
stead  of  ordering  him  to  be  hanged  every 
month  for  415,000  years,  or  put  Csesar  in 
as  Secretary  of  State,  instead  of  having 
him  roasted  three  times  a  month  for 
seventy  or  eighty  centuries,  he  would 
have  strengthened  his  hold.  As  it  is,  he 
has  ignored  all  these  people  officially, 
treats  them  like  criminals  personally ; 
makes  friends  with  Mazarin  and  Pow- 
hatau,  awards  the  office  of  Tax  Assessor 
to  Dick  Turpin,  and  makes  old  Falstaff 
commander  of  his  Imperial  Guard.  And 
just  because  poor  Ben  Jonson  scribbled 
off  a  rhyme  for  my  paper,  The  Gazette — a 
rhyme  running  : 

29 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

Mazarin 

And  Powhatan, 
Turpin  and  Falstaff, 

Form,  you  bet, 

A  cabinet 
To  make  a  donkey  laugh. 

Mazarin 

And  Powhatan 
Run  Apollyon's  state. 

The  Dick  and  Jacks 

Collect  the  tax— 
The  people  pay  the  freight. 

— just  because  Jonson  wrote  that  and  I 
published  it,  my  paper  was  confiscated, 
Jonson  was  boiled  in  oil  for  ten  weeks, 
and  I  was  seized  and  thrown  into  a  dun 
geon  where  a  lot  of  savages  from  the 
South  Sea  Islands  tattooed  the  darned 
old  jingle  between  my  shoulder  blades  in 
green  letters,  and  not  satisfied  with  this 
barbaric  act,  right  under  the  jingle  they 
added  the  line,  in  red  letters,  'This  edi 
tion  strictly  limited  to  one  copy,  for  pri 
vate  circulation  only/  and  they  every  one 
of  'em,  Apollyon,  Mazarin,  and  the  rest, 
30 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

signed  the  guarantee  personally  with  red- 
hot  pens  dipped  in  sulphuric  acid.  It 
makes  a  valuable  collection  of  autographs, 
no  doubt,  but  I  prefer  my  back  as  nature 
made  it.  Talk  about  enlightened  govern 
ment  under  a  man  who'll  permit  things 
like  that  to  be  done  !" 

I  ought  not  to  have  done  it,  but  I 
couldn't  help  smiling. 

"  I  must  say,"  I  observed,  apologetically, 
"that  the  treatment  was  barbarous,  but 
really  I  do  think  it  showed  a  sense  of  hu 
mor  on  the  part  of  the  government." 

"No  doubt,"  replied  Boswell,  with  a 
sigh;  "but  when  the  joke  is  on  me  I  don't 
enjoy  it  very  much.  Fm  only  human, 
and  should  prefer  t©  observe  that  the 
government  had  some  sense  of  justice." 

The  apparently  empty  chair  before  the 
machine  gave  a  slight  hitch  forward,  and 
the  type-writer  began  to  tap  again. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me  now,"  ob 
served  Boswell  through  the  usual  medium. 
"  I  have  work  to  do,  and  if  you'll  go  to 
bed  like  a  good  fellow,  while  I  copy  off 
31 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE- WRITER 

the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  of  the 
Authors'  Club,  Pll  see  that  you  don't  lose 
anything  by  it.  After  I  get  the  minutes 
done  I  have  an  interesting  story  for  my 
Sunday  paper  from  the  advance  sheets 
of  Munchausen's  Further  Recollections, 
which  I  shall  take  great  pleasure  in  leav 
ing  for  you  when  I  depart.  If  you  will 
take  the  bundle  of  manuscript  I  leave 
with  you  and  boil  it  in  alcohol  for  ten 
minutes,  you  will  be  able  to  read  it,  and, 
no  doubt,  if  you  copy  it  off,  sell  it  for  a 
goodly  sum.  It  is  guaranteed  absolutely 
genuine." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  rising,  "  I'll  go  ; 
but  I  should  think  you  would  put  in  most 
of  your  time  whacking  at  the  government 
editorially,  instead  of  going  in  for  min 
utes  and  abstract  stories  of  adventure." 

"  You  do,  eh  ?"  said  Bos  well.  "  Well, 
if  you  were  in  my  place  you'd  change  your 
mind.  After  my  unexpected  endorsement 
by  the  Emperor  and  his  cabinet,  I've  de 
cided  to  keep  out  of  politics  for  a  little 
while.  I  can  stand  having  a  poem  tat- 


SOME  LATE  NEWS  OF  HADES 

tooed  on  my  back,  but  if  it  came  to  having 
a  three -column  editorial  expressing  my 
emotions  etched  alongside  of  my  spine, 
I'm  afraid  I'd  disappear  into  thin  air." 

So  I  left  him  at  work  and  retired.  The 
next  morning  I  found  the  promised  bun 
dle  of  manuscripts,  and,  after  boiling  the 
pages  as  instructed,  discovered  the  follow 
ing  tale. 


Ill 


FROM  ADVANCE  SHEETS  OF  BARON  MUN- 

CHAUSEN'S  FURTHER  RECOLLECTIONS 

IT  is  with  some  very  considerable  hesi 
tation  that  I  come  to  this  portion  of  my 
personal  recollections,  and  yet  I  feel  that 
I  owe  it  to  my  fellow-citizens  in  this  de 
lightful  Stygian  country,  where  we  are  all 
enjoying  our  well-earned  rest,  to  lay  be 
fore  them  the  exact  truth  concerning  cer 
tain  incidents  which  have  now  passed  into 
history,  and  for  participation  in  which  a 
number  of  familiar  figures  are  improperly 
gaining  all  the  credit,  or  discredit,  as  the 
case  may  be.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  task  to 
expose  an  impostor  ;  much  less  is  it  agree 
able  to  expose  four  impostors  ;  but  to  one 
who  from  the  earliest  times — and  when  I 
say  earliest  times  I  speak  advisedly,  as  you 
34 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

will  see  as  you  read  on — to  one,  I  say, 
who  from  earliest  times  has  been  actuated 
by  no  other  motive  than  the  promulgation 
of  truth,  the  task  of  exposing  fraud  be 
comes  a  duty  which  cannot  be  ignored. 
Therefore,  with  regret  I  set  down  this 
chapter  of  my  memoirs,  regardless  of  its 
consequences  to  certain  figures  which 
have  been  of  no  inconsiderable  importance 
in  our  community  for  many  years — figures 
which  in  my  own  favorite  club,  the  As 
sociated  Shades,  have  been  most  welcome, 
but  which,  as  I  and  they  alone  know, 
have  been  nothing  more  than  impostures. 
In  previous  volumes  I  have  confined  my 
attention  to  my  memoirs  as  Baron  Mun- 
chausen — but,  dear  reader,  there  are  others. 
/  was  not  always  Baron  Muncliausen ;  I 
have  been  others  !  I  am  not  aware  that  it 
has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  any  but  myself  in 
the  whole  span  of  universal  existence  to 
live  more  than  one  life  upon  that  curious, 
compact  little  ball  of  land  and  water 
called  the  Earth,  but,  in  any  event,  to  me 
has  fallen  that  privilege  or  distinction,  or 
35 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

whatever  it  may  be,  and  upon  the  record 
made  by  me  in  four  separate  existences, 
placed  centuries  apart,  four  residents  of 
this  sphere  are  basing  their  claims  to  no 
tice,  securing  election  to  our  clubs,  and 
even  venturing  so  far  at  times  as  to  make 
themselves  personally  obnoxious  to  me, 
who  with  a  word  could  expose  their  wicked 
deceit  in  all  its  naked  villany  to  an  as 
tounded  community.  And  in  taking  this 
course  they  have  gone  too  far.  There  is 
a  limit  beyond  which  no  man  shall  dare 
go  with  me.  Satisfied  with  the  ultimate 
embodiment  of  my  virtues  in  the  Baron 
Munchausen,  I  have  been  disposed  to  al 
low  the  impostors  to  pursue  their  decep 
tion  in  peace  so  long  as  they  otherwise  be 
have  themselves,  but  when  Adam  chooses 
to  allude  to  my  writings  as  frothy  lies, 
when  Jonah  attacks  my  right  as  a  literary 
person  to  tell  tales  of  leviathans,  when 
Noah  states  that  my  ignorance  in  yachting 
matters  is  colossal, and  whenWilliam  Shake 
speare  publicly  brands  me  as  a  person  un 
worthy  of  belief  who  should  be  expelled 
86 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

from  the  Associated  Shades,  then  do  I 
consider  it  time  to  speak  out  and  expose 
lour  of  the  greatest  frauds  that  have  ever 
been  inflicted  upon  a  long-suffering  public. 
To  begin  at  the  beginning  then,  let  me 
state  that  my  first  recollection  dates  back 
to  a  beautiful  summer  morning,  when  in 
a  lovely  garden  I  opened  my  eyes  and  be 
came  conscious  of  two  very  material  facts  : 
first,  a  charming  woman  arranging  her 
hair  in  the  mirror-like  waters  of  a  silver 
lake  directly  before  me  ;  and,  second,  a 
poignant  pain  in  my  side,  as  though  I  had 
been  operated  upon  for  appendicitis,  but 
which  in  reality  resulted  from  the  loss  of 
a  rib  which  had  in  turn  evoluted  into  the 
charming  and  very  human  being  I  now 
saw  before  me.  That  woman  was  Eve  ; 
that  mirror-like  lake  was  set  in  the  midst 
of  the  Garden  of  Eden  ;  I  was  Adam,  and 
not  this  watery-eyed  antediluvian  calling 
himself  by  my  name,  who  is  a  familiar 
figure  in  the  Anthropological  Society,  an 
authority  on  evolution,  and  a  blot  upon 
civilization. 

37 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

I  have  little  to  say  about  this  first  ex 
istence  of  mine.  It  was  full  of  delights. 
Speech  not  having  been  invented,  Eve 
was  an  attractive  companion  to  a  man 
burdened  as  I  was  with  responsibilities, 
and  until  our  children  were  born  we  went 
our  way  in  happiness  and  silence.  It  is 
not  in  the  nature  of  things,  however,  that 
children  should  not  wish  to  talk,  and  it 
was  through  the  irrepressible  efforts  of 
Cain  and  Abel  to  be  heard  as  well  as  seen 
that  first  called  the  attention  of  Eve  and 
myself  to  the  desirability  of  expressing 
our  thoughts  in  words  rather  than  by  ma 
sonic  signs. 

I  shall  not  burden  my  readers  with  fur 
ther  recollections  of  this  period.  It  was 
excessively  primitive,  of  necessity,  but  be 
fore  leaving  it  I  must  ask  the  reader  to 
put  one  or  two  questions  to  himself  in 
this  matter. 

1st.  How  is  it  that  this  bearded  patri 
arch,  who  now  poses  as  the  only  original 
Adam,  has  never  been  able,  with  any  de 
gree  of  positiveness,  to  answer  the  ques- 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

tion  as  to  whether  or  not  he  was  provided 
with  a  caudal  appendage  —  a  question 
which  I  am  prepared  to  answer  definitely, 
at  any  moment,  if  called  upon  by  the 
proper  authorities,  and,  if  need  be,  to  pro 
duce  not  only  the  tail  itself,  but  the  fierce 
and  untamed  pterodactyl  that  bit  it  off 
upon  that  unfortunate  autumn  afternoon 
when  he  and  I  had  our  first  and  last  con 
flict. 

2d.  Why  is  it  that  when  describing  a 
period  concerning  which  he  is  supposed 
to  know  all,  he  seems  to  have  given  voice 
to  sentiments  in  phrases  which  would  have 
delighted  Sheridan  and  shed  added  glory 
upon  the  eloquence  of  Webster,  at  a  time 
when,  as  I  have  already  shown,  there  was 
no  such  thing  as  speech  ? 

Upon  these  two  points  alone  I  rest  my 
case  against  Adam  :  the  first  is  the  reti 
cence  of  guilt — he  doesn't  know,  and  he 
knows  he  doesn't  know ;  the  second  is  a  de 
liberate  and  offensive  prevarication,  which 
shows  again  that  he  doesn't  know,  and  as 
sumes  that  we  are  all  equally  ignorant. 
39 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

So  much  for  Adam.  Now  for  the  cheap 
and  year-ridden  person  who  has  taken 
unto  himself  my  second  personality,  Noah ; 
and  that  other  strange  combination  of  woe 
and  wickedness,  Jonah,  who  has  chosen 
to  pre-empt  my  third.  I  shall  deal  with 
both  at  one  and  the  same  time,  for,  taken 
separately,  they  are  not  worthy  of  notice. 

Noah  asserts  that  I  know  nothing  of 
yachting.  I  will  accept  the  charge  with 
the  qualification  that  I  know  a  great  sight 
more  about  Arking  than  he  does  ;  and 
as  for  Jonah,  I  can  give  Jonah  points  on 
whaling,  and  I  hereby  challenge  them 
both  to  a  Memoir  Match  for  $2000  a  side, 
in  gold,  to  see  which  can  give  to  the  world 
the  most  interesting  reminiscences  con 
cerning  the  cruises  of  the  two  craft  in 
question,  the  Ark  and  the  Whale,  upon 
neither  of  which  did  either  of  these  two 
anachronisms  ever  set  foot,  and  of  both 
of  which  I,  in  my  two  respective  exist 
ences,  was  Commander-in-chief.  The  fact 
is  that,  as  in  the  case  of  the  fictitious 
Adam,  these  two  impersonators  are  frauds. 
40 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

The  man  now  masquerading  as  Noah  was 
my  hired  man  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
antediluvian  period  ;  was  discharged  three 
years  before  the  flood;  was  left  on  shore 
at  the  hour  of  departure,  and  when  last 
seen  by  me  was  sitting  on  the  top  of  an 
apple-tree,  begging  to  be  taken  back  with 
out  wages,  offering  to  do  two  men's  work 
for  nothing  if  we'd  only  let  him  out  of 
the  wet.  If  he  will  at  any  time  submit 
to  a  cross-examination  at  my  hands  as  to 
the  principal  events  of  that  memorable 
voyage,  I  will  show  to  any  fair-minded 
judge  how  impossible  is  his  claim  that  he 
was  in  command,  or  even  afloat,  after  the 
first  week.  I  have  hitherto  kept  silent 
in  this  matter,  in  spite  of  many  and  re 
peated  outrageous  flings,  for  the  sake  of 
his — or  rather  my — family,  who  have  been 
deceived,  as  have  all  the  rest  of  us,  bar 
ring,  of  course,  myself.  References  to 
portraits  of  leading  citizens  of  that  pe 
riod  will  easily  show  how  this  can  be.  We 
were  all  alike  as  two  peas  in  the  olden 
days,  and  at  a  time  when  men  reached 
41 


THE   ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITER 

to  an  advanced  age  which  is  not  known 
now,  it  frequently  became  almost  impos 
sible  to  distinguish  one  old  man  from 
another.  I  will  say,  finally,  in  regard  to 
this  person  Noah  that  if  lie  can  give  to 
the  public  a  statement  telling  the  essen 
tial  differences  between  a  pterodactyl  and 
a  double  spondee  that  will  not  prove  ut 
terly  absurd  to  an  educated  person,  I  will 
withdraw  my  accusation  and  resign  from 
the  club.  But  I  know  well  he  cannot  do 
it,  and  he  does  too,  and  that  is  about  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge. 

Now  as  to  Jonah.  I  really  dislike  very 
much  to  tread  upon  this  worthy's  toes, 
and  I  should  not  do  it  had  he  not  chosen 
to  clap  an  injunction  upon  a  volume  of 
Tdlcs  of /he  Wlialcs,  which  I  wrote  for  chil 
dren  last  summer,  claiming  that  I  was 
infringing  upon  his  copyright,  and  feel 
ing  that  I  as  a  self-respecting  man  would 
never  claim  the  discredit  of  having  myself 
been  the  person  he  claims  to  have  been. 
I  will  candidly  confess  that  I  am  not  proud 
of  my  achievements  as  Jonah.  I  was  a 
42 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

very  oily  person  even  before  I  embarked 
upon  the  seas  as  Lord  High  Admiral 
of  H.  M.  S.  Leviathan.  I  was  not  a 
pleasant  person  to  know.  If  I  spent  the 
night  with  a  friend,  his  roof  would  fall 
in  or  his  house  would  burn  down.  If  I 
bet  on  a  horse,  he  would  lead  up  to  the 
home-stretch  and  fall  down  dead  an  inch 
from  the  finish.  If  I  went  into  a  stock 
speculation,  I  was  invariably  caught  on  a 
rising  or  a  falling  market.  In  my  youth 
I  spoiled  every  yachting-party  I  went  on 
by  attracting  a  gale.  When  I  came  out 
the  moon  went  behind  a  cloud,  and  peo 
ple  who  began  by  endorsing  my  paper 
ended  up  in  the  poor-house.  Society  gave 
me  tip.  Commerce  wouldn't  have  me. 
Boards  of  Trade  everywhere  repudiated 
me,  and  I  gradually  sank  into  that  state 
of  despair  which  finds  no  solace  anywhere 
but  on  the  sea  or  in  politics,  and  as  poli 
tics  was  then  unknown  I  went  to  sea. 
The  result  is  known  to  the  world.  I 
was  cast  overboard,  ingulfed  by  a  whale, 
which,  in  his  defence  let  me  be  generous 
43 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

enough  to  say,  swallowed  me  inadver 
tently  and  with  the  usual  result.  I  came 
back,  and  life  went  on.  Finally  I  came 
here,  and  when  it  got  to  the  ears  of  the 
authorities  that  I  was  in  Hades,  they  sent 
me  back  for  the  fourth  time  to  earth  in 
the  person  of  William  Shakespeare. 

That  is  the  whole  of  the  Jonah  story. 
It  is  a  sad  story,  and  I  regret  it;  and  I  am 
sorry  for  the  impostor  when  I  reflect  that 
the  character  he  has  assumed  possesses 
attractions  for  him.  His  real  life  must 
have  been  a  fearful  thing  if  he  is  happy 
in  his  impersonation,  and  for  his  punish 
ment  let  us  leave  him  where  he  is.  Hav 
ing  told  the  truth,  1  have  done  my  duty. 
I  cheerfully  resign  my  claim  to  the  per 
sonality  he  claims — I  relinquish  from  this 
time  on  all  right,  title,  and  interest  in  the 
name  ;  but  if  he  ever  dares  to  interfere 
with  me  again  in  the  use  of  my  person 
al  recollections  concerning  the  inside  of 
whales  I  shall  hale  him  before  the  au 
thorities. 

And  now,  finally,  I  come  to  Shakespeare, 
44 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

whom  I  have  kept  for  the  last,  not  be 
cause  he  was  the  last  chronologically,  but 
because  I  like  to  work  up  to  a  climax. 

Previous  to  my  existence  as  Baron  Mun- 
chausen  I  lived  for  a  term  of  years  on 
earth  as  William  Shakespeare,  and  what  I 
have  to  say  now  is  more  in  the  line  of  con 
fession  than  otherwise. 

In  my  boyhood  I  was  wild  and  I  poached. 
If  I  were  not  afraid  of  having  it  set  down 
as  a  joke,  I  should  say  that  I  poached 
everything  from  eggs  to  deer.  I  was  not 
a  great  joy  to  my  parents.  There  was  no 
deviltry  in  Stratford  in  which  I  did  not 
take  a  leading  part,  and  finally,  for  the 
good  of  Warwickshire,  I  was  sent  to  Lon 
don,  where  a  person  of  my  talents  was 
more  likely  to  find  congenial  and  appreci 
ative  surroundings.  A  glance  at  such  of 
my  autographs  as  are  now  extant  will 
demonstrate  the  fact  that  I  never  learned 
to  write ;  a  glance  at  the  first  folios  of  the 
plays  attributed  to  me  will  likewise  show 
that  I  never  learned  to  spell ;  and  yet  I 
walked  into  London  with  one  of  the  most 
45 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

exquisite  poems  in  the  English  language 
in  my  pocket.  I  am  still  filled  with  merri 
ment  over  it.  How  was  it,  the  critics  of 
the  years  since  have  asked — how  was  it 
that  this  untutored  little  savage  from 
leafy  Warwickshire,  with  no  training  and 
little  education,  came  into  London  with 
"Venus  and  Adonis"  in  manuscript  in  his 
pocket  ?  It  is  quite  evident  that  the  critic 
fraternity  have  no  Sherlock  Holmes  in 
their  midst.  It  would  not  take  much  of 
an  eye,  a  true  detective's  eye,  to  see  the 
milk  in  that  cocoanut,  for  it  is  but  a  sim 
ple  tale  after  all.  The  way  of  it  was  this  : 
On  my  way  from  Stratford  to  London  I 
walked  through  Coventry,  and  I  remained 
in  Coventry  overnight.  I  was  ill-clad  and 
hungry,  and,  having  no  money  with  wlr'ch 
to  pay  for  my  supper,  I  went  to  the  ROY  il 
Arms  Hotel  and  offered  my  services  as 
porter  for  the  night,  having  noted  that 
a  rich  cavalcade  from  London,  en  route 
to  Kenilworth,  had  arrived  unexpectedly 
at  the  Royal  Arms.  Taken  by  surprise, 
and,  therefore,  unprepared  to  accommodate 
46 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

so  many  guests,  the  landlord  was  glad  to 
avail  himself  of  my  services,  and  I  was  as 
signed  to  the  position  of  boots.  Among 
others  whom  I  served  was  Walter  Raleigh, 
who,  noting  my  ragged  condition  and  hear 
ing  what  a  roisterer  and  roustabout  I  had 
been,  immediately  took  pity  upon  me,  and 
gave  me  a  plum-colored  court-suit  with 
which  he  was  through,  and  which  I  ac 
cepted,  put  upon  my  back,  and  next  day 
wore  off  to  London.  It  was  in  the  pocket 
of  this  that  I  found  the  poem  of  "  Venus 
and  Adonis."  That  poem,  to  keep  myself 
from  starving,  I  published  when  I  reached 
London,  sending  a  complimentary  copy  of 
course  to  my  benefactor.  When  Raleigh 
saw  it  he  was  naturally  surprised  but 
gratified,  and  on  his  return  to  London  he 
sought  me  out,  and  suggested  the  publi 
cation  of  his  sonnets.  I  was  the  first 
man  he'd  met,  he  said,  who  was  willing 
to  publish  his  stuff  on  his  own  responsi 
bility.  I  immediately  put  out  some  of 
the  sonnets,  and  in  time  was  making  a 
comfortable  living,  publishing  the  anony- 
47 


THE  ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITER 

nious  works  of  most  of  the  young  bucks 
about  town,  who  paid  well  for  my  imprint. 
That  the  public  chose  to  think  the  works 
mine  was  none  of  my  fault.  I  never 
claimed  them,  and  the  line  on  the  title- 
page,  "By  William  Shakespeare,"  had 
reference  to  the  publisher  only,  and  not, 
as  many  have  chosen  to  believe,  to  the 
author.  Thus  were  published  Lord  Ba 
con's  "Hamlet,"  Raleigh's  poems,  several 
plays  of  Messrs.  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
— who  were  themselves  among  the  clever 
est  adapters  of  the  times — and  the  rest  of 
that  glorious  monument  to  human  cre 
dulity  and  memorial  to  uii  impossible, 
wholly  apocryphal  genius,  known  as  the 
works  of  William  Shakespeare.  The  ex 
tent  of  my  writing  during  this  incarnation 
was  ten  autographs  for  collectors,  and  one 
attempt  at  a  comic  opera  called  "A  Mid 
summer's  Nightmare,"  which  was  never 
produced,  because  no  one  would  write  the 
music  for  it,  and  which  was  ultimately 
destroyed  with  three  of  my  quatrains 
and  all  of  Bacon's  evidence  against  my 
48 


'CATHODE -RAY    PHOTOGRAPH    OF    THE    WHALE, 
SHOWING   MYSELF    .        .    INSIDE" 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

authorship  of  "  Hamlet/7  in  the  fire  at  the 
Globe  Theatre  in  the  year  1613. 

These,  then,  dear  reader,  are  the  revela 
tions  which  I  have  to  make.  In  my  next 
incarnation  I  was  the  man  I  am  now  known 
to  be,  Baron  Munchausen.  As  I  have  said, 
I  make  the  exposure  with  regret,  but  the 
arrogance  of  these  impudent  imperson 
ators  of  my  various  personalities  has 
grown  too  great  to  be  longer  borne.  I  lay 
the  simple  story  of  their  villany  before  you 
for  what  it  is  worth.  I  have  done  my  duty. 
If  after  this  exposure  the  public  of  Hades 
choose  to  receive  them  in  their  homes  and 
at  their  clubs,  and  as  guests  at  their  func 
tions,  they  will  do  it  with  a  full  knowledge 
of  their  duplicity. 

In  conclusion,  fearing  lest  there  be  some 
doubters  among  the  readers  of  this  paper, 
I  have  allowed  my  friend,  the  editor  of  this 
esteemed  journal,  which  is  to  publish  this 
story  exclusively  on  Sunday  next,  free  ac 
cess  to  my  archives,  and  he  has  selected 
as  exhibits  of  evidence,  to  which  I  ear 
nestly  call  your  attention,  the  originals  of 
D  49 


T1IE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

the  cuts  which  illustrate  this  chapter — 
viz  : 

I.  A  full-length  portrait  of  Eve  as  she 
appeared  at  our  first  meeting. 

II.  Portraits   of  Cain  and  Abel  at  the 
ages  of  two,  five,  and  seven. 

III.  The  original  plans  and  specifica 
tions  of  the  Ark. 

IV.  Facsimile  of  her  commission. 

V.  Portrait  -  sketch  of  myself  and  the 
false  Noah,  made  at  the  time,  and  showing 
how  difficult  it  woul:!  have  been  for  any 
member  of  my  family,  save  myself,  to  tell 
us  apart. 

VI.  A  cathode -ray  photograph  of  the 
whale,  showing  myself,  the  original  Jonah, 
seated  inside. 

VII.  Facsimiles  of  the  Shakespeare  au 
tographs,  proving  that  he   knew  neither 
how  to  write  nor  to  spell,  and  so  of  course 
proving  effectually  that  I  was  not  the  au 
thor  of  his  works. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  I  read  this  ar 
ticle  of  Munchausen's  with  amazement, 
50 


FURTHER    RECOLLECTIONS 

and  I  awaited  with  much  excited  curiosity 
the  coming  again  of  the  manipulator  of 
my  type-writing  machine.  Surely  a  reve 
lation  of  this  nature  should  create  a  sensa 
tion  in  Hades,  and  I  was  anxious  to  learn 
how  it  was  received.  Boswell  did  not  ma 
terialize,  however,  and  for  five  nights  I 
fairly  raged  with  the  fever  of  curiosity, 
but  on  the  sixth  night  the  familiar  tinkle 
of  the  bell  announced  an  arrival,  and  I  flew 
to  the  machine  and  breathlessly  cried : 

"  Hullo,  old  chap,  how  did  it  come 
out  ?" 

The  reply  was  as  great  a  surprise  as  I 
have  yet  had,  for  it  was  not  Boswell,  Jim 
Boswell,  who  answered  my  question. 


IV 
A   CHAT  WITH   XANTHIPPE 

THE  machine  stopped  its  clicking  the 
moment  I  spoke,  and  the  words,  "  IIul- 
lo,  old  chap !"  were  no  sooner  uttered 
than  my  face  grew  red  as  a  carnation 
pink.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  committed 
some  dreadful  faux -pas,  and  instead  of 
gazing  steadfastly  into  the  vacant  chair, 
as  I  had  been  wont  to  do  in  my  conver 
sation  with  Boswell,  my  eyes  fell,  as 
though  the  invisible  occupant  of  the  chair 
were  regarding  me  with  a  look  of  indig 
nant  scorn. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said. 

"  I  should  think  you  might,"  returned 

the  types.    " '  Hullo,  old  chap  !'  is  no  way 

to  address  a  woman  you've  never  had  the 

honor  of  meeting,  even  if  she  is  of  the 

52 


A    CHAT   WITH    XANTHIPPE 

most  advanced  sort.  No  amount  of  new 
ness  in  a  woman  gives  to  a  man  the  right 
to  be  disrespectful  to  her." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  I  explained.  "  Really, 
miss,  I—" 

"  Madame/'  interrupted  the  machine, 
"not  miss.  I  am  a  married  woman,  sir, 
which  makes  of  your  rudeness  an  even 
more  reprehensible  act.  It  is  well  enough 
to  affect  a  good-fellowship  with  young 
unmarried  females,  but  when  you  attempt 
to  be  flippant  with  a  married  woman — 

"But  I  didn't  know,  I  tell  you,"  I  ap 
pealed.  "  How  should  I  ?  I  supposed  it 
was  Boswell  I  was  talking  to,  and  he  and 
I  have  become  very  good  friends." 

"Humph  !"  said  the  machine.  "You're 
a  chum  of  Boswell's,  eh  ?" 

"Well,  not  exactly  a  chum,  but — ''  I 
began. 

"But  you  go  with  him  ?"  interrupted 
the  lady. 

"  To  an  extent,  yes,"  I  confessed. 

"  And  does  he  go  with  you  ?"  was  the 
query.  "  If  he  does,  permit  me  to  depart 
53 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

at  once.  I  should  not  feel  quite  in  my 
element  in  a  house  where  the  editor  of 
a  Sunday  newspaper  was  an  attractive 
guest.  If  you  like  that  sort  of  thing,  your 
tastes—" 

' '  I  do  not,  madame,"  I  replied,  quickly. 
"  I  prefer  the  opium  habit  to  the  Sunday- 
newspaper  habit,  and  if  I  thought  Bos- 
well  was  merely  a  purveyor  of  what  is 
known  as  Sunday  literature,  which  de 
pends  upon  the  goodness  of  the  day  to 
offset  its  shortcomings,  I  should  forbid 
him  the  house." 

A  distinct  sigh  of  relief  emanated  from 
the  chair. 

"  Then  I  may  remain,"  was  the  remark 
rapidly  clicked  off  on  the  machine. 

"  I  am  glad/'  said  I.  "  And  may  I  ask 
whom  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing  ?" 

"Certainly,"  was  the  immediate  re 
sponse.  "My  name  is  Socrates,  nee 
Xanthippe." 

I  instinctively  cowered.  Candidly,  I 
was  afraid.  Never  in  my  life  before  had 
I  met  a  woman  whom  I  feared.  Never 
54 


I    FELT    AS    IF   I   HAD    COMMITTED    SOME    DREADFUL 

FAUX  PAS" 


A    CHAT    WITH    XANTHIPPE 

in  my  life  have  I  wavered  in  the  presence 
of  the  sex  which  cheers,  but  I  have  al 
ways  felt  that  while  I  could  hold  my  own 
with  Elizabeth,  withstand  the  wiles  of 
Cleopatra,,  and  manage  the  recalcitrant 
Katherine  even  as  did  Petruchio,  Xan 
thippe  was  another  story  altogether,  and 
I  wished  I  had  gone  to  the  club.  My  first 
impulse  was  to  call  up-stairs  to  my  wife 
and  have  her  come  down.  She  knows  how 
to  handle  the  new  woman  far  better  than 
I  do.  She  has  never  wanted  to  vote,  and 
my  collars  are  safe  in  her  hands.  She  has 
frequently  observed  that  while  she  had 
many  things  to  be  thankful  for,  her  great 
est  blessing  was  that  she  was  born  a  wom 
an  and  not  a  man,  and  the  new  women 
of  her  native  town  never  leave  her  pres 
ence  without  wondering  in  their  own 
minds  whether  or  not  they  are  mere  hu 
morous  contributions  of  the  Almighty  to 
a  too  serious  world.  I  pulled  myself  to 
gether  as  best  I  could,  and  feeling  that 
my  better-half  would  perhaps  decline  the 
proffered  invitation  to  meet  with  one  of 
55 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

the  most  illustrious  of  her  sex,  I  decided 
to  fight  my  own  battle.  So  I  merely 
said : 

"  Really  ?  How  delightful !  I  have  al 
ways  felt  that  I  should  like  to  meet  you, 
and  here  is  one  of  my  devoutest  wishes 
gratified." 

I  felt  cheap  after  the  remark,  for  Mrs. 
Socrates,  nee  Xanthippe,  covered  five 
sheets  of  paper  with  laughter,  with  an 
occasional  bracketing  of  the  word  "deri 
sively,"  such  as  we  find  in  the  daily  news 
papers  interspersed  throughout  the  after- 
dinner  speeches  of  a  candidate  of  another 
party.  Finally,  to  my  relief,  the  oft- 
repeated  "Ha-ha-ha!"  ceased,  and  the 
line,  "  I  never  should  have  guessed  it," 
closed  her  immediate  contribution  to  our 
interchange  of  ideas. 

"May  I  ask  why  you  laugh?"  I  ob 
served,  when  she  had  at  length  finished. 

"Certainly,"  she  replied.     "Far  be  it 

from  me  to  dispute  the  right  of  a  man  to 

ask  any  question  he  sees  fit  to  ask.    Is  he 

not  the  lord  of  creation  ?    Is  not  woman 

56 


A    CHAT   WITH    XANTHIPPE 

his  abject  slave  ?  Is  not  the  whole  differ 
ence  between  them  purely  economic  ?  Is 
it  not  the  law  of  supply  and  demand  that 
rules  them  both,  he  by  nature  demanding 
and  she  supplying  ?" 

Dear  reader,  did  you  ever  encounter  a 
machine,  man-made,  merely  a  mechanism 
of  ivory,  iron,  and  ink,  that  could  sniff 
contemptuously  ?  I  never  did  before  this 
encounter,  but  the  infernal  power  of 
either  this  type-writer  or  this  woman  who 
manipulated  its  keys  imparted  to  the  at 
mosphere  I  was  breathing  a  sniffing  con- 
temptuousness  which  I  have  never  expe 
rienced  anywhere  outside  of  a  London 
hotel,  and  then  only  when  I  ventured,  as 
few  Americans  have  dared,  to  complain 
of  the  ducal  personage  who  presided  over 
the  dining-room,  but  who,  I  must  confess, 
was  conquered  subsequently  by  a  tip  of 
ten  shillings. 

At  any  rate,  there  was  a  sniff  of  con 
tempt  imparted,  as  I  have  said,  to  the  at 
mosphere  I  was  breathing  as  Xanthippe 
answered  my  question,  and  the  sniff  saved 
57 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

me,  just  as  it  did  in  the  London  hotel, 
when  I  complained  of  the  lordly  lack  of 
manners  on  the  part  of  the  head  waiter. 
I  asserted  my  independence. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  I  put  in. 
"Of  course  I  shall  be  interested  in  any 
thing  you  may  choose  to  say,  but  as  a 
gentleman  I  do  not  care  to  put  a  woman 
to  any  inconvenience  and  I  do  not  press 
the  question." 

And  then  I  tried  to  crush  her  by  add 
ing,  "What  a  lovely  aay  we  have  had,"  as 
if  any  subject  other  than  the  most  com 
monplace  was  not  demanded  by  the  situa 
tion. 

"If  you  contemplate  discussing  the 
weather,"  was  the  retort,  "  I  wish  you 
would  kindly  seek  out  some  one  else  with 
whom  to  do  it.  I  am  not  one  of  your 
latter-day  sit-out-on-the-stairs-while-the- 
others-dance  girls.  I  am,  as  I  have  al 
ways  been,  an  ardent  admirer  of  prin 
ciples,  of  great  problems.  For  small  talk 
I  have  no  use." 

"  Very  well,  madame — "  I  began. 
58 


A    CHAT    WITH    XANTHIPPE 

"You  asked  me  a  moment  ago  why  I 
laughed,"  clicked  the  machine. 

"I  know  it,"  said  I.  "  But  I  withdraw 
the  question.  There  is  no  great  principle 
involved  in  a  woman's  laughter.  I  have 
known  women  who  have  laughed  at  a 
broken  heart,  as  well  as  at  jokes,  which 
shows  that  there  is  no  principle  involved 
there ;  and  as  a  problem,  I  have  never 
cared  enough  about  why  women  laugh  to 
inquire  deeply  into  it.  If  she'll  just  con 
sent  to  laugh,  I'm  satisfied  without  inquir 
ing  into  the  causes  thereof.  Let  us  get 
down  to  an  agreeable  basis  for  yourself. 
What  problem  do  you  wish  to  discuss  ? 
Servants,  baby-food,  floor-polish,  or  the 
number  of  godets  proper  to  the  skirt  of  a 
well-dressed  woman  ?" 

I  was  regaining  confidence  in  myself, 
and  as  I  talked  I  ceased  to  fear  her. 
Thought  I  to  myself,  "  This  attitude  of 
supreme  patronage  is  man's  safest  weapon 
against  a  woman.  Keep  cool,  assume  that 
there  is  no  doubt  of  your  superiority,  and 
that  she  knows  it.  Appear  to  patronize 
59 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

her,  and  her  own  indignation  will  defeat 
her  ends."  It  is  a  good  principle  gener 
ally.  Among  mortal  women  I  have  never 
known  it  to  fail,  and  when  I  find  myself 
worsted  in  an  argument  with  one  of  man's 
greatest  blessings,  I  always  fall  back  upon 
it  and  am  saved  the  ignominy  of  defeat. 
But  this  time  I  counted  without  my  an 
tagonist. 

"  Will  you  repeat  that  list  of  prob 
lems  ?"  she  asked,  coldly. 

"Servants,  baby-food,  floor-polish,  and 
godets,"  I  repeated,  somewhat  sheepishly, 
she  took  it  so  coolly. 

"Very  well,"  said  Xanthippe,  with  a 
note  of  amusement  in  her  manipulation  of 
the  keys.  "  If  those  are  your  subjects, 
let  us  discuss  them.  I  am  surprised  to 
find  an  able-bodied  man  like  yourself 
bothering  with  such  problems,  but  I'll 
help  you  out  of  your  difficulties  if  I  can. 
No  needy  man  shall  ever  say  that  I  ig 
nored  his  cry  for  help.  What  do  you 
want  to  know  about  baby-food  ?" 

This  turning  of  the  tables  nonplussed 
60 


A    CHAT    WITH    XANTHIPPE 

me,  and  I  didn't  really  know  what  to  say, 
and  so  wisely  said  nothing,  and  the  ma 
chine  grew  sharp  in  its  clicking. 

"You  men!"  it  cried.  "You  don't 
know  how  fearfully  shallow  you  are.  I 
can  see  through  you  in  a  minute." 

"Well/'  I  said,  modestly,  "I  suppose 
you  can."  Then  calling  my  feeble  wit 
to  my  rescue,  I  added,  "It's  only  natural, 
since  I've  made  a  spectacle  of  myself." 

"Not  you  !"  cried  Xanthippe.  "You 
haven't  even  made  a  monocle  of  yourself." 

And  here  we  both  laughed,  and  the  ice 
was  broken. 

"What  has  become  of  Boswell  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  He's  been  sent  to  the  ovens  for  ten 
days  for  libelling  Shakespeare  and  Adam 
and  Noah  and  old  Jonah,"  replied  Xan 
thippe.  "  He  printed  an  article  alleged  to 
have  been  written  by  Baron  Munchausen, 
in  which  those  four  gentlemen  were  held 
up  to  ridicule  and  libelled  grossly." 

"  And  Munchausen  ?"  I  cried. 

"  Oh,  the  Baron  got  out  of  it  by  confess- 
61 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

ing  that  he  wrote  the  article,"  replied  the 
lady.  "  And  as  he  swore  to  his  confession 
the  jnry  were  convinced  he  was  telling 
another  one  of  his  lies  and  acquitted  him, 
so  Boswell  was  sent  up  alone.  That's  why 
I  am  here.  There  isn't  a  man  in  all  Hades 
that  dared  take  charge  of  Boswell's  paper — 
they're  all  so  deadly  afraid  of  the  gov 
ernment,  so  I  stepped  in,  and  while  Bos- 
well  is  baking  I'm  attending  to  his  edi 
torial  duties." 

"  But  you  spoke  contemptuously  of  the 
Sunday  newspapers  awhile  ago,  Mrs.  Soc 
rates,"  said  I. 

"I  know  that,"  said  Xanthippe,  "but 
I've  fixed  that.  I  get  out  the  Sunday 
edition  on  Saturdays." 

"Oh  — I  see.  And  you  like  it?"  I 
queried. 

"  First  rate,"  she  replied.  "I'm  in  love 
with  the  work.  I  almost  wish  poor  old  Bos 
had  been  sentenced  for  ten  years.  I  have 
enough  of  the  woman  in  me  to  love  mind 
ing  other  people's  business,  and,  as  far  as 
I  can  find  out,  that's  about  all  journal- 
62 


A    CHAT    WITH    XANTHIPPE 

ism  amounts  to.  Sewing  societies  aren't 
to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  day  with  a 
newspaper  for  scandal  and  gossip,  and, 
besides,  I'm  an  ardent  advocate  of  men's 
rights — have  been  for  centuries — and  I've 
got  my  first  chance  now  to  promulgate  a 
few  of  my  ideas.  I'm  really  a  man  in  all 
my  views  of  life — that's  the  inevitable  end 
of  an  advanced  woman  who  persists  in  fol 
lowing  her  ' newness'  to  its  logical  conclu 
sion.  Her  habits  of  thought  gradually 
come  to  be  those  of  a  man.  Even  I  have  a 
great  deal  more  sympathy  with  Socrates 
than  I  used  to  have.  I  used  to  think  I 
was  the  one  that  should  be  emancipated, 
but  I'm  really  reaching  that  stage  in  my 
manhood  where  I  begin  to  believe  that  he 
needs  emancipation." 

"Then  you  admit,  do  you,"  I  cried, 
with  great  glee,  "that  this  new-woman 
business  is  all  Tommy-rot?" 

(i  Not  by  a  great  deal,"  snapped  the 
machine.  "Far  from  it.  It's  the  salva 
tion  of  the  happy  life.  It  is  perfectly 
logical  to  say  that  the  more  rnanny  a 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

woman  becomes,  the  moro  she  is  likely  to 
sympathize  with  the  troubles  and  trials 
which  beset  men." 

I  scratched  my  head  and  pulled  the 
lobe  of  my  ear  in  the  hope  of  loosening  an 
argument  to  confront  her  with,  not  that 
I  disagreed  with  her  entirely,  but  because 
I  instinctively  desired  to  oppose  her  as 
pleasantly  disagreeably  as  I  could.  But 
the  result  was  nil. 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  right,"  I  said. 

"You're  a  truthful  man,"  clicked  the 
machine,  laughingly.  "You  are  afraid 
I'm  right.  And  why  are  you  afraid  ?  Be 
cause  you  are  one  of  those  men  who  take 
a  cynical  view  of  woman.  You  want 
woman  to  be  a  mere  lump  of  sugar,  con 
tent  to  be  left  in  a  bowl  until  it  pleases  you 
in  your  high — and — mightiness  to  take  her 
in  the  tongs  and  drop  her  into  the  coffee 
of  your  existence,  to  sweeten  what  would 
otherwise  not  please  your  taste — and  like 
most  men  you  prefer  two  or  three  lumps 
to  one." 

I  could  only  cough.  The  lady  was 
64 


A    CHAT   WITH    XANTHIPPE 

more  or  less  right.  I  am  very  fond  of 
sugar,  though  one  lump  is  my  allowance, 
and  I  never  exceed  it,  whatever  the  temp 
tation.  Xanthippe  continued. 

"  You  criticise  her  because  she  doesn't 
understand  you  and  your  needs,  forget 
ting  that  out  of  twenty-four  hours  of  your 
daily  existence  your  wife  enjoys  personally 
about  twelve  hours  of  your  society,  during 
eight  of  which  you  are  lying  flat  on  your 
back,  snoring  as  though  your  life  depended 
on  it ;  but  when  she  asks  to  be  allowed  to 
share  your  responsibilities  as  well  as  what, 
in  her  poor  little  soul,  she  thinks  are  your 
joys,  you  flare  up  and  call  her  'new'  and 
'  advanced,'  as  if  advancement  were  a 
crime.  You  ride  off  on  your  wheel  for 
forty  miles  on  your  days  of  rest,  and  she 
is  glad  to  have  you  do  it,  but  when  she 
wants  a  bicycle  to  ride,  you  think  it's  all 
wrong,  immoral,  and  conducive  to  a  weak 
heart.  Bah !" 

"  I— ah— "  I  began. 

"  Yes  you  do,"  she  interrupted.  "  You 
ah  and  you  hem  and  you  haw,  but  in  the 
E  65 


THE   ENCIIANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

end  you're  a  poor  miserable  social  mug 
wump,  conscious  of  your  own  magnificence 
and  virtue,  but  nobody  else  ever  can  attain 
to  your  lofty  plane.  Now  what  I  want  to 
see  among  women  is  more  good  fellows. 
Suppose  you  regarded  your  wife  as  good 
a  fellow  as  you  think  your  friend  Jones. 
Do  you  think  you'd  be  running  off  to  the 
club  every  night  to  play  billiards  with 
Jones,  leaving  your  wife  to  enjoy  her  own 
society  ?" 

"Perhaps  not/'  I  replied,  "  but  that's 
just  the  point.  My  wife  isn't  a  good  fel 
low." 

"Exactly,  and  for  that  reason  you  &eek 
out  Jones.  You  have  a  right  to  the  com 
panionship  of  the  good  fellow  —  that's 
what  I'm  going  to  advocate.  I've  ad 
vanced  far  enough  to  see  that  on  the  aver 
age  in  the  present  state  of  woman  she  is 
not  a  suitable  companion  for  man — she 
has  none  of  the  qualities  of  a  chum  to 
which  he  is  entitled.  I'm  not  so  blind 
but  that  I  can  see  the  faults  of  my  own 
sex,  particularly  now  that  I  have  become 
66 


A    CHAT    WITII    XANTHIPPE 

so  very  masculine  myself.  Both  sexes 
should  have  their  rights,  and  that  is  the 
great  policy  I'm  to  hammer  at  as  long  as 
I  have  BoswelFs  paper  in  charge.  I  wish 
you  might  see  my  editorial  page  for  to 
morrow  ;  it  is  simply  fine.  I  urge  upon 
woman  the  necessity  of  joining  in  with 
her  husband  in  all  his  pleasures  whether 
she  enjoys  them  or  not.  When  he  lights 
a  cigar,  let  her  do  the  same  ;  when  he 
calls  for  a  cocktail,  let  her  call  for  another. 
In  time  she  will  begin  to  understand  him. 
He  understands  her  pleasures,  and  often 
he  joins  in  with  them  —  opera,  dances, 
lectures ;  she  ought  to  do  the  same,  and 
join  in  with  him  in  his  pleasures,  and 
after  a  while  they'll  get  upon  a  common 
basis,  have  their  clubs  together,  and  when 
that  happy  time  comes,  when  either  one 
goes  out  the  other  will  also  go,  and  their 
companionship  will  be  perfect." 

"  But  you  objected  to  my  calling  you 
old  chap  when  we  first  met,"  said  I.  "Is 
that  quite  consistent?" 

"  Of  course,"  retorted  the  lady.  "  We 
67 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

had  never  met  before,  and,  besides,  doctors 
do  not  always  take  their  own  medicine." 

"  But  that  women  ought  to  become 
good  fellows  is  what  you're  going  to  ad 
vocate,  eh  ?"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  replied  Xanthippe.  "It's  ex 
cellent,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"  Superb,"  I  answered,  "  for  Hades. 
It's  just  my  idea  of  how  things  ought  to 
be  in  Hades.  I  think,  however,  that  we 
mortals  will  stick  to  the  old  plan  for  a  lit 
tle  while  yet ;  most  of  us  prefer  to  marry 
wives  rather  than  old  chaps." 

The  remark  seemed  so  to  affect  my  vis 
itor  that  I  suddenly  became  conscious  of 
a  sense  of  loneliness. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  offend  you,"  I  said, 
"  but  I  rather  like  to  keep  the  two  sep 
arate.  Aren't  you  man  enough  yet  to  see 
the  value  of  variety?" 

But  there  was  no  answer.  The  lady 
had  gone.  It  was  evident  that  she  con 
sidered  me  unworthy  of  further  atten 
tion. 


THE    EDITING    OF   XANTHIPPE 

AFTER  my  interview  with  Xanthippe,  I 
hesitated  to  approach  the  type- writer  for 
a  week  or  two.  It  did  a  great  deal  of 
clicking  after  the  midnight  hour  had 
struck,  and  I  was  consumed  with  curi 
osity  to  know  what  was  going  on,  but  I 
did  not  wish  to  meet  Mrs.  Socrates  again, 
so  I  held  aloof  until  Boswell  should  have 
served  his  sentence.  I  was  no  longer 
afraid  of  the  woman,  but  I  do  fear  the 
good  fellow  of  the  weaker  sex,  and  I 
deemed  it  just  as  well  to  keep  out  of  any 
and  all  disputes  that  might  arise  from  a 
casual  conversation  with  a  creature  of  that 
sort.  An  agreement  with  a  real  good  fel 
low,  even  when  it  ends  in  a  row,  is  more 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

or  less  diverting;  but  a  disputation  with 
a  female  good  fellow  places  a  man  at  a 
disadvantage.  The  aryumentutn  ad  Jio- 
minem  is  not  an  easy  thing  with  men,  but 
with  women  it  is  impossible.  Hence,  I 
let  the  type-writer  click  and  ring  for  a 
fortnight. 

Finally,  to  my  relief,  I  recognized  Bos- 
well's  touch  upon  the  ke}Ts  and  sauntered 
up  to  the  side  of  the  machine. 

"Is  this  Boswell— Jim  Boswell  ?"  I  in 
quired. 

"All  that's  left  of  him,"  was  the  an 
swer.  "  How  have  you  been  ?" 

"Very  well,"  said  I.  And  then  it  seem 
ed  to  me  that  tact  required  that  I  should 
not  seem  to  know  that  he  had  been  in  the 
superheated  jail  of  the  Stygian  country. 
So  I  observed,  "  You've  been  off  on  a 
vacation,  eh  ?" 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  was  the 
immediate  response. 

"  Well,"  I  put  in,  "you've  been  absent 
for  a  fortnight,  and  you  look  more  or  less 
— ah — burned." 

70 


THE   EDITING   OF   XANTHIPPE 

"Yes,  I  am,"  replied  the  deceitful 
editor.  "Very  much  burned,  in  fact. 
I've  been  —  er  —  I've  been  playing  golf 
with  a  friend  down  in  Cimmeria." 

"  I  envy  you,"  I  observed,  with  an  in 
ward  chuckle. 

"  You  wouldn't  if  you  knew  the  links," 
replied  Boswell,  sadly.  "  They're  awful 
ly  hard.  I  don't  know  any  harder  course 
than  the  Cimmerian." 

And  then  I  became  conscious  of  a  mis 
trustful  gaze  fastened  upon  me. 

"  See  here,"  clicked  the  machine.  "  I 
thought  I  was  invisible  to  you  ?  If  so, 
how  do  you  know  I  look  burned  ?" 

I  was  cornered,  and  there  was  only  one 
way  out  of  it,  and  that  was  by  telling 
the  truth.  "Well,  you  are  invisible,  old 
chap,"  I  said.  "The  fact  is,  I've  been 
told  of  your  trouble,  and  I  know  what  you 
have  undergone." 

"And  who  told  you  ?"  queried  Boswell. 

"Your  successor  on  the  Gazette,  Madame 
Socrates,  nee  Xanthippe,"  I  replied. 

"  Oh,  that  woman — that  woman  !"  moan- 
71 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

ed  Boswell,  through  the  medium  of  the 
keys.  "  Has  she  been  here,  using  this 
machine  too  ?  Why  didn't  you  stop  her 
before  she  ruined  me  completely?" 

"  Ruined  you  ?"  I  cried. 

"Well,  next  thing  to  it,"  replied  Bos- 
well.  i(  She's  run  my  paper  so  far  into 
the  ground  that  it  will  take  an  almighty 
powerful  grip  to  pull  it  out  again.  Why, 
my  dear  boy,  when  I  went  to  —  to  the 
ovens,  I  had  a  cireulation  of  a  million, 
and  when  I  came  back  that  woman  had 
brought  it  down  to  eight  copies,  seven  of 
which  have  already  been  returned.  All 
in  ten  days,  too." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  it  ?"  I  asked. 

"'Side  Talks  with  Men'  helped,  and 
'The  Man's  Corner'  did  a  little,  but  the 
editorial  page  did  the  most  of  it.  It  was 
given  over  wholly  to  the  advancement 
of  certain  Xanthippian  ideas,  which  were 
very  offensive  to  my  women  readers,  and 
which  found  no  favor  among  the  men. 
She  wants  to  change  the  whole  social 
structure.  She  thinks  men  and  women 
72 


THE   EDITING    OF   XANTHIPPE 

are  the  same  kind  of  animal,  and  that 
both  need  to  be  educated  on  precisely  the 
same  lines  —  the  girls  to  be  taught  busi 
ness,  the  boys  to  go  through  a  course  of 
domestic  training.  She  called  for  sub 
scriptions  for  a  cooking-school  for  boys, 
and  demanded  the  endowment  of  a  com 
mercial  college  for  girls,  and  wound  up 
by  insisting  upon  a  uniform  dress  for  both 
sexes.  I  tell  you,  if  you'd  worked  for  years 
to  establish  a  dignified  newspaper  the  way 
I  have,  it  would  have  broken  your  heart 
to  see  the  suggested  fashion-plates  that 
woman  printed.  The  uniform  dress  was 
a  holy  terror.  It  was  a  combination  of 
all  the  worst  features  of  modern  garb. 
Trousers  were  to  be  universal  and  com 
pulsory;  sensible  masculine  coats  were 
discarded  entirely,  and  puffed  -  sleeved 
dress-coats  were  substituted.  Stiff  collars 
were  abolished  in  favor  of  ribbons,  and 
rosettes  cropped  up  everywhere.  Imag 
ine  it  if  you  can — and  everybody  in  all 
Hades  was  to  be  forced  into  garments  of 
that  sort  I" 

73 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"I  should  enjoy  seeing  it,"  I  said. 

"  Possibly  —  but  you  wouldn't  enjoy 
wearing  it,"  retorted  the  machine.  "  And 
then  that  woman's  funny  column — it  was 
frightful.  You  never  saw  such  jokes  in 
your  life;  every  one  of  them  contained  a 
covert  attack  upon  man.  There  was  only 
one  good  thing  in  it,  and  that  was  a  bit  of 
verse  called '  Fair  Play  for  the  Little  Girls/ 
It  went  like  this  : 

"  'If  little  boys,  when  they  are  young, 

Can  go  about  in  skirts, 
And  wear  upon  their  little  backs 

Small  broidered  girlish  shirts, 
Pray  why  cannot  the  little  girls, 

When  infants,  have  a  chance 
To  toddle  on  their  little  ways 

In  little  pairs  of  pants  ?' " 

"That  isn't  at  all  bad,"  said  I,  smiling 
in  spite  of  poor  Boswell's  woe.  "  If  the 
rest  of  the  paper  was  on  a  par  with  that 
I  don't  see  why  the  circulation  fell  off." 

"Well,  she  took  liberties,  that's  all," 
said  Boswell.  "  For  instance,  in  her  l  Side 
Talks  with  Men'  she  had  something  like 
74 


THE    EDITING    OF   XANTHIPPE 

this  :  'Napoleon — It  is  rather  difficult  to 
say  just  what  yon  can  do  with  your  last 
season's  cocked-hat.  If  you  were  to  pur 
chase  five  yards  of  one-inch  blue  ribbon, 
cut  it  into  three  strips  of  equal  length, 
and  fasten  one  end  to  each  of  the  three 
corners  of  the  hat,  tying  the  other  ends 
into  a  choux,  it  would  make  a  very  accept 
able  work-basket  to  send  to  your  grand 
mother  at  Christmas/  Now  Napoleon 
never  asked  that  woman  for  advice  on  the 
subject.  Then  there  was  an  answer  to  a 
purely  fictitious  inquiry  from  Solomon 
which  read  :  '  It  all  depends  on  local  cus 
tom.  In  Salt  Lake  City,  and  in  London 
at  the  time  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  it  was 
not  considered  necessary  to  be  off  with 
the  old  love  before  being  on  with  the  new, 
but  latterly  the  growth  of  monopolistic 
ideas  tends  towards  the  uniform  rate  of 
one  at  a  time/  A  purely  gratuitous  fling, 
that  was,  at  one  of  my  most  eminent  pa 
trons,  or  rather  two  of  them,  for  latterly 
both  Solomon  and  Henry  the  Eighth  have 
yielded  to  the  tendency  of  the  times  and 
75 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

gone  into  business,  which  they  have  paid 
me  well  to  advertise.  Solomon  has  es 
tablished  an  '  Information  Bureau,' where 
advice  can  always  be  had  from  the  'Wise 
man/  as  he  calls  himself,  on  payment  of 
a  small  fee ;  while  Henry,  taking  advan 
tage  of  his  superior  equipment  over  any 
English  king  that  ever  lived,  has  founded 
and  liberally  advertised  his  *  Chaperon 
Company  (Limited)/  It's  a  great  thing 
even  in  Hades  for  young  people  to  be 
chaperoned  by  an  English  queen,  and 
Henry  has  been  smart  enough  to  see  it, 
and  having  seven  or  eight  queens,  all  in 
good  standing,  he  has  been  doing  a  great 
business.  Just  look  at  it  from  a  business 
point  of  view.  There  are  seven  nights  in 
every  week,  and  something  going  on  some 
where  all  the  time,  and  queens  in  demand. 
With  a  queen  quoted  so  low  as  $100  a 
night,  Henry  can  make  nearly  85000  a 
week,  or  $260,000  a  year,  out  of  evening 
chaperonage  alone  ;  and  when,  in  addition 
to  this,  yachting-parties  up  the  Styx  and 
slumming  -  parties  throughout  the  coun- 
76 


THE   EDITING   OF   XANTHIPPE 

try  are  being  constantly  given,  the  man's 
opportunity  to  make  half  a  million  a  year 
is  in  plain  sight.  I'm  told  that  he  netted 
over  $500,000  last  year;  and  of  course  he 
had  to  advertise  to  get  it,  and  this  Xan 
thippe  woman  goes  out  of  her  way  to  get 
in  a  nasty  little  fling  at  one  of  my  main 
stays  for  his  matrimonial  propensities." 

"Failing  utterly  to  see,"  said  I,  "  that, 
in  marrying  so  many  times,  Henry  really 
paid  a  compliment  to  her  sex  which  is 
without  parallel  in  royal  circles." 

' '  Well,  nearly  so,"  said  Boswell.  "  There 
have  been  other  kings  who  were  quite  as 
complimentary  to  the  ladies,  but  Henry 
was  the  only  man  among  them  who  in 
sisted  on  marrying  them  all." 

"True,"  said  I.  "Henry  was  emi 
nently  proper — but  then  he  had  to  be." 

"Yes,"  said  Boswell,  with  a  meditative 
tap  on  the  letter  Y.  "Yes — he  had  to 
be.  He  was  the  head  of  the  Church,  you 
know." 

"I  know  it,"  I  put  in.  "I've  always 
had  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  Henry. 
77 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

He  has  been  very  much  misjudged  by  pos 
terity.  He  was  the  father  of  the  really 
first  new  woman,  Elizabeth,  and  his  other 
daughter,  Mary,  was  such  a  vindictive 
person." 

"  You  are  a  very  fair  man,  for  an  Amer 
ican/'  said  Boswell.  "  Not  only  fair,  but 
rare.  You  think  about  things." 

"  I  try  to,"  said  I,  modestly.  "  And 
Fve  really  thought  a  great  deal  about 
Henry,  and  I've  truly  seen  a  valid  reason 
for  his  continuous  matrimonial  perform 
ances.  He  set  himself  up  against  the 
Pope,  and  he  had  to  be  consistent  in  his 
antagonism." 

"He  did,  indeed,"  said  Boswell.  " A 
religious  discussion  is  a  hard  one." 

"  And  Henry  was  consistent  in  his  op 
position,"  said  I.  "  He  didn't  yield  a  jot 
on  any  point,  and  while  a  great  many  peo 
ple  criticise  him  on  the  score  of  his  wives— 
particularly  on  their  number — I  feel  that 
I  have  in  very  truth  discovered  his  prin 
ciple." 

"Which  was  ?"  queried  Boswell. 
78 


THE    EDITING    OF   XANTHIPPE 

"That  the  Pope  was  wrong  in  all 
things,"  said  I. 

"  So  he  said,"  commented  Boswell. 

"And  being  wrong  in  all  things,  celi 
bacy  was  wrong,"  said  I. 

"  Exactly,"  ejaculated  Boswell. 

"Well,  then,"  said  I,  "if  celibacy  is 
wrong,  the  surest  way  to  protest  against 
it  is  to  marry  as  many  times  as  you  can." 

"  By  Jove  !"  said  Boswell,  tapping  the 
keys  yearningly,  as  though  he  wished  he 
might  spare  his  hand  to  shake  mine, 
"  you  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart." 

"  Thanks,  old  chap,"  said  I,  reaching 
out  my  hand  and  shaking  it  in  the  air  with 
my  visionary  friend — "  thanks.  Fve  stud 
ied  these  things  with  some  care,  and  I've 
tried  to  find  a  reason  for  everything  in 
life  as  I  know  it.  I  have  always  regard 
ed  Henry  as  a  moral  man — as  is  natural, 
since  in  spite  of  all  you  can  say  he  is  the 
real  head  of  the  English  Church.  He 
wasn't  willing  to  be  married  a  second  or 
a  seventh  time  unless  he  was  really  a 
widower.  He  wasn't  as  long  in  taking 
79 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

notice  again  as  some  modern  widowers 
that  I  have  met,  but  I  do  not  criticise 
him  on  that  score.  I  merely  attribute  his 
record  to  his  kingly  nature,  which  in 
volves  necessarily  a  quickness  of  decision 
and  a  decided  perception  of  the  necessi 
ties  which  is  sadly  lacking  in  people  who 
are  born  to  a  lesser  station  in  life.  Eng 
land  demanded  a  queen,  and  he  invariably 
met  the  demand,  which  shows  that  he 
knew  something  of  political  economy  as 
well  as  of  matrimony  ;  and  as  I  see  it,  be 
ing  an  American,  a  man  needs  to  know 
something  of  political  economy  to  be  a 
good  ruler.  So  many  of  our  statesmen 
have  acquired  a  merely  kindergarten 
knowledge  of  the  science,  that  we  have 
had  many  object-lessons  of  the  disadvan 
tages  of  a  merely  elementary  knowledge 
of  the  subject.  To  come  right  down  to  it, 
I  am  a  great  admirer  of  Henry.  At  any 
rate,  he  had  the  courage  of  his  heart-con 
victions." 

"  You  really  surprise  me,"  tapped  Bos- 
well.    "  I  never  expected  to  find  an  Amer- 
80 


THE    EDITING    OF   XANTHIPPE 

ican  so  thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  kings 
and  their  needs." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  said  I,  "  in  America 
we  are  all  kings  and  we  are  not  without 
our  needs,  matrimonial  and  otherwise,  only 
our  courts  are  not  quite  so  expeditious  as 
Henry's  little  axe.  But  what  was  Henry's 
attitude  towards  this  extraordinary  flight 
of  Xanthippe's  ?" 

"  Wrath,"  said  Bos  well.  "  He  was  very 
much  enraged,  and  withdrew  his  advertise 
ments,  declined  to  give  our  society  report 
ers  the  usual  accounts  of  the  functions  his 
wives  chaperoned,  and,  worst  of  all,  has 
withdrawn  himself  and  induced  others  to 
withdraw  from  the  symposium  I  was  pre 
paring  for  my  special  Summer  Girls'  issue, 
which  is  to  appear  in  August,  on  'How 
Men  Propose.'  He  and  Brigham  Young 
and  Solomon  and  Bonaparte  had  agreed  to 
dictate  graphic  accounts  of  how  they  had 
done  it  on  various  occasions,  and  Queen 
Elizabeth,  who  probably  had  more  pro 
posals  to  the  square  minute  than  any  other 
woman  on  record,  was  to  write  the  intro- 
F  81 


THE   ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITER 

duction.  This  little  plan,  which  was  really 
the  idea  of  genius,  is  entirely  shattered  by 
Mrs.  Socrates's  infernal  interference." 

"Nonsense,"  said  I.  "Don't  despair. 
Why  don't  you  come  out  with  a  plain  state 
ment  of  the  facts  ?  Apologize." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  sir,"  interposed 
Boswell,  "that  one  of  the  fundamental 
principles  of  Hades  as  an  institution  is 
that  excuses  don't  count.  It  isn't  a  place 
for  repentance  so  much  as  for  expiation, 
and  I  might  apologize  nine  times  a  minute 
for  forty  years  and  would  still  have  to  suf 
fer  the  penalty  of  the  offence.  No,  there 
is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  begin  my  news 
paper  work  again,  build  up  again  the  in 
stitution  that  Xanthippe  has  destroyed, 
and  bear  my  misfortunes  like  a  true  spirit." 

"  Spoken  like  a  philosopher  !"  I  cried. 
"  And  if  I  can  help  you,  my  dear  Boswell, 
count  upon  me.  In  anything  you  may  do, 
whether  you  start  a  monthly  magazine,  a 
sporting  weekly,  or  a  purely  American 
Sunday  newspaper,  you  are  welcome  to 
anything  I  can  do  for  you." 
82 


"HENRY   THE  EIGHTH    .    .    .   WAS  MUCH  ENRAGED,  AND 
WITHDREW   HIS   ADVERTISEMENTS  " 


THE    EDITING    OF    XANTHIPPE 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  returned  Boswell, 
appreciatively,  "and  if  I  need  your  ser 
vices  I  shall  be  glad  to  avail  myself  of 
them.  Just  at  present,  however,  my  plans 
are  so  fully  prepared  that  I  do  not  think 
I  shall  have  to  call  upon  you.  With  Sher 
lock  Holmes  engaged  to  write  twelve  new 
detective  stories  ;  Poe  to  look  after  my 
tales  of  horror ;  D'Artagnan  dictating  his 
personal  memoirs ;  Lucretia  Borgia  run 
ning  my  Girls'  Department ;  and  others 
too  numerous  to  mention,  I  have  a  suffi 
cient  supply  of  stuff  to  fill  up ;  but  if  you 
feel  like  writing  a  few  poems  for  me  I  may 
be  able  to  use  them  as  fillers,  and  they 
may  help  to  make  your  name  so  well 
known  in  Hades  that  next  year  I  shall  be 
able  to  print  a  Worldly  Letter  from  you 
every  week  with  a  good  chance  of  its  prov 
ing  popular." 

And  with  this  promise  Boswell  left  me 
to  get  out  the  first  number  of  The  Cim 
merian:  a  Sunday  Magazine  for  all.  Tak 
ing  him  at  his  word,  I  sent  him  the  follow 
ing  poem  a  few  days  later: 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 


LOCALITY 

Whither  do  we  drift, 

Insensate  souls,  whose  every  breath 

Foretells  the  doom  of  nothingness? 

Yet  onward,  upward  let  it  be 

Through  all  the  myriad  circles 

Of  the  ensuing  years— 

And  then,  pray  what  ? 

Alas  !  'tis  all,  and  never  shall  be  stated. 

Atoms,  yet  atomless  we  drift, 

But  whitherward  ? 

I  had  intended  this  for  one  of  oar  lead 
ing  magazines,  but  it  seemed  so  to  lack 
the  mystical  quality,  which  is  essential 
to  a  successful  magazine  poem  in  our 
sphere,  that  I  deemed  it  best  to  try  it  on 
Boswell. 


VI 


THE   BOSWELL  TOURS  :    PERSONALLY  CON 
DUCTED 

IT  was  and  will  no  doubt  be  considered? 
even  by  those  who  are  not  too  friendly 
towards  myself,  a  daring  idea,  and  it  was 
all  my  own.  One  night,  several  weeks 
after  the  interview  with  Boswell  just  nar 
rated,  the  idea  came  to  me  simultane 
ously  with  the  first  tapping  of  the  keys 
for  the  evening  upon  the  Enchanted 
Type-writer.  It  was  Boswell's  touch  that 
summoned  me  from  my  divan.  My  family 
were  on  the  eve  of  departure  for  a  month's 
rest  from  care  and  play  in  the  mountains, 
and  I  was  looking  forward  to  a  pc/iod  of 
very  great  loneliness.  But  as  Boswell  ma 
terialized  and  began  his  work  upon  the 
85 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

machine,  the  great  idea  flashed  across  my 
mind,  and  I  resolved  to  "play  it"  for  all 
it  was  worth. 

"Jim,"  said  I,  as  I  approached  the 
vacant  chair  in  which  he  sat — for  by  this 
time  the  great  biographer  and  I  had  got 
upon  terms  of  familiarity — "Jim,"  said 
I,  "  I've  got  a  very  gloomy  prospect  ahead 
of  me." 

"  Well,  why  not  ?"  he  tapped  off. 
"Where  do  you  expect  to  have  your 
gloomy  prospects  ?  They  can't  very  well 
be  behind  you." 

"Humph!"  said  I.  "  You  are  face 
tious  this  evening." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  replied.  "I  have 
been  spending  the  day  with  my  old-time 
boss,  Samuel  Johnson,  and  I  am  so  satu 
rated  with  purism  that  I  hardly  know 
where  I  am.  From  the  Johnsonian  point 
of  view  you  have  expressed  yourself 
ill—" 

"  Well,  I  am  ill,"  I  retorted.  "  I  don't 
know  how  far  you  are  acquainted  with 
home  life,  but  I  do  know  that  there  is  no 
86 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

greater  homesickness  in  the  world  than 
that  of  the  man  who  is  sick  of  home." 

"  I  am  not  an  imitator/'  said  Boswell, 
"but  I  must  imitate  you  to  the  extent  of 
saying  humph  !  I  quote  you,  and,  doing 
so,  I  honor  you.  But  really,  I  never 
thought  you  could  be  sick  of  home,  as 
you  put  it  —  you  who  are  so  happy  at 
home  and  who  so  wildly  hate  being  away 
from  home." 

"I'm  not  surprised  at  that,  my  dear 
Boswell,"  said  I.  "But  you  are,  of 
course,  familiar  with  the  phrase  '  Stone 
walls  do  not  a  prison  make '  ?" 

"  I've  heard  it,"  said  Boswell. 

"  Well,  there's  another  equally  valid 
phrase  which  I  have  not  yet  heard  ex 
pressed  by  another,  and  it  is  this  :  ( Stone 
walls  do  not  a  home  make.'" 

"It  isn't  very  musical,  is  it  ?"  said  he. 

"Not  very,"  I  answered,  "but  we  don't 
all  live  magazine  lives,  do  we  ?  We  have 
occasionally  a  sentiment,  a  feeling,  out  of 
which  we  do  not  try  '  to  make  copy/  It 
is  undoubtedly  a  truth  which  I  have  not 
87 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

yet  seen  voiced  by  any  modern  poet  of  my 
acquaintance,  not  even  by  the  dead-baby 
poets,  that  home  is  not  always  preferable 
to  some  other  things.  At  any  rate,  it  is 
my  feeling,  and  is  shortly  to  represent  my 
condition.  My  home,  you  know.  It  has 
its  walls  and  its  pictures,  and  its  thousand 
and  one  comforts,  and  its  associations,  but 
when  my  wife  and  my  children  are  away, 
and  the  four  walls  do  not  re-echo  the 
voices  of  the  children,  and  my  library 
lacks  the  presence  of  madame,  it  ceases 
truly  to  be  home,  and  if  I've  got  to  stay 
here  during  the  month  of  August  alone  I 
must  have  diversion,  else  I  shall  iind  my 
self  as  badly  off  as  the  butterfly  man,  to 
whom  a  vaudeville  exhibition  is  the  great 
est  joy  in  life." 

"  I  think  you  are  queer,"  said  Boswell. 

"Well,  I'm  not,"  said  I.  "However 
low  we  may  set  the  standard  of  man,  Mr. 
B." — and  I  called  him  Mr.  B.  instead  of 
Jim,  because  I  wished  to  be  severe  and 
yet  retain  the  basis  of  familiarity — "how 
ever  low  we  may  set  the  standard  of  man, 
88 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

I  think  man  as  a  rule  prefers  his  home  to 
the  most  seductive  roof-garden  life  in  ex 
istence." 

"Wherefore  ?"  said  he,  coldly. 

"  Wherefore  my  home  about  to  become 
unattractive  through  the  absence  of  my 
boys  and  their  mother,  I  shall  need  some 
extraordinary  diversion  to  accomplish  my 
happiness.  Now  if  you  can  come  here, 
why  can't  others  ?  Suppose  to-night  you 
dash  off  on  the  machine  a  lot  of  invita 
tions  to  the  pleasantest  people  in  Hades 
to  come  up  here  with  you  and  have  an 
evening  on  earth,  in  a  most  conventional 
way,  perhaps,  but  still  an  evening  on  earth, 
which  isn't  at  all  bad." 

"  It's  a  scheme  and  a  half,"  said  Bos- 
well,  with  more  enthusiasm  than  I  had 
expected.  "HI  do  it,  only  instead  of 
trying  to  get  these  people  to  make  a  pil 
grimage  to  your  shrine,  which  I  think 
they  would  decline  to  do  —  Shakespeare, 
for  instance,  wouldn't  give  a  tuppence  to 
inspect  your  birthplace  as  you  have  in 
spected  his — I'll  institute  a  series  of  '  Bos- 
89 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

well's  Personally  Conducted  Pleasure  Par 
ties/  and  make  you  my  agent  here.  That, 
you  see,  will  naturally  make  your  home 
our  headquarters,  and  I  think  the  scheme 
would  work  to  a  charm,  because  there  are 
a  great  many  well-known  Stygians  who 
are  curious  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  their 
earlier  state,  but  who  are  timid  about  com 
ing  on  their  own  responsibility." 

"I  see,"  said  I.  "  Immortals  are  but 
mortal  after  all,  with  all  the  timidity  and 
weaknesses  of  mortality.  But  I  agree  to 
the  proposition,  and  if  you  wish  it  I'll 
prepare  to  give  them  a  rousing  old  time." 

"And  be  sure  to  show  them  something 
characteristic,"  said  Boswell. 

"  I  will,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  may  even  get 
up  a  trolley-party  for  them." 

"I  don't  know  what  a  trolley-party  is, 
but  it  sounds  well,"  said  Boswell,  "and 
I'll  advertise  the  enterprise  at  once.  '  Bcs- 
well's  Personally  Conducted  Pleasure  Par 
ties.  First  Series,  No.  1.  Trolleying 
Through  Hoboken.  For  the  Round  Trip, 
Four  Dollars.  Supper  and  All  Expenses 
90 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

Included.  No  Tips.  Extra  Lady's  Tick 
et,  One  Dollar/" 

"  Hold  on  I"  I  cried.  "  That  can't  be. 
These  affairs  will  really  have  to  be  stag- 
parties — with  my  wife  away,  you  know/' 

"  Not  if  we  secure  a  suitable  chaperon," 
said  Boswell. 

'•'Anyhow  !"  said  I,  with  great  positive- 
ness.  "You  don't  suppose  that  in  the 
absence  of  my  family  I'm  going  to  have 
my  neighbors  see  me  cavorting  about  the 
country  on  a  trolley-car  full  of  queens  and 
duchesses  and  other  females  of  all  ages  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear  James.  I'm  not  a 
strictly  conventional  person,  but  there  are 
some  points  between  which  I  draw  lines. 
I've  got  to  live  on  this  earth  for  a  little 
while  yet,  and  until  I  leave  it  I  must  be 
guided  more  or  less  in  what  I  do  by  what 
the  world  approves  or  disapproves." 

"Very  well,"  Boswell  answered.  "I 
suppose  you  are  right,  but  in  the  autumn, 
when  your  family  has  returned — " 

"  We  can  discuss  the  matter  again,"  said 
I,  resolved  to  put  off  the  question  for  as 
91 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

long  a  time  as  I  could,  for  I  candidly  con 
fess  that  I  had  no  wish  to  make  myself  re 
sponsible  for  the  welfare  of  such  Stygian 
ladies  as  might  avail  themselves  of  the  op 
portunity  to  go  off  on  one  of  Boswell's 
tours.  "Show  the  value  and  beauties  of 
your  plan  to  the  influential  men  of  Hades 
first,  my  dear  Boswell/'I  added,  "and  then 
if  they  choose  they  can  come  again  and 
bring  their  wives  with  them  on  their  own 
responsibility." 

"  I  fancy  that  is  the  best  plan,  but  we 
ought  to  have  some  variety  in  these  tours," 
he  replied.  "  A  trolley-party,  however  suc 
cessful,  would  not  make  a  great  season  for 
an  entertainment  bureau,  would  it  ?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  I.  "You  are  per 
fectly  right  about  that.  What  you  want 
is  one  function  a  week  during  the  summer 
season.  Open  with  the  trolley-party  as  No.  1 
of  your  first  series.  Follow  this  with  '  An 
Evening  of  \raudeville  :  The  Grand  Tour 
of  the  Roof  Gardens.'  After  that  have  a 
'  Sunday  at  the  Sea-side — Surf  Bathing, 
Summer  Girls,  and  Sand/  That  would 
92 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

make  a  mighty  attractive  line  for  your 
advertisement." 

"Magnificent.  I  don't  see  why  yon 
don't  give  up  poetry  and  magazine  work 
and  get  a  position  as  poster -writer  for  a 
circus.  You  are  only  a  mediocre  maga- 
zinist,  but  in  the  poster  business  you'd  be 
a  genius." 

This  was  tapped  off  with  such  manifest 
sincerity  that  I  could  not  take  offence,  so 
I  thanked  him  and  resumed. 

"The  grand  finale  of  your  first  series 
might  be  'A  Tandem  Scorch  :  A  Century 
Eun  on  a  Bicycle  Built  for  Two  Hun 
dred!'" 

"  Magnificent !"  cried  Boswell,  with  such 
enthusiasm  that  I  feared  he  would  smash 
the  machine.  "  I'll  devote  a  whole  page 
of  my  Sunday  issue  to  the  prospectus — but, 
to  return  to  the  woman  question,  we  ought 
really  to  have  something  to  announce  for 
them.  Hades  hath  no  fury  like  a  woman 
scorned,  and  I  can't  afford  to  scorn  the 
sex.  You  needn't  have  anything  to  do 
with  them  if  you  don't  want  to — only  tell 
93  • 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

me  something  I  can  announce,  and  I'll  make 
Henry  the  Eighth  solid  again  by  putting 
that  branch  of  the  enterprise  in  his  wives' 
hands.  In  that  way  I'll  kill  two  birds  with 
one  stone." 

"That's  all  very  well,  Boswell,  but  Pm 
afraid  I  can't/'  said  I.  "  It's  hard  enough 
to  know  how  to  please  a  mortal  woman 
without  attempting  to  get  up  a  series  of 
picnics  for  the  rather  miscellaneous  assort 
ment  of  ladies  who  form  your  social  struct 
ure  below.  All  men  are  alike,  and  man's 
pleasures  in  all  times  have  been  generally 
the  same,  but  every  woman  is  unique.  I 
never  knew  two  who  were  alike,  and  if  it's 
all  the  same  to  you  I'd  rather  you  left  me 
out  of  your  ladies'  tours  altogether.  Of 
course  I  know  that  even  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  would  enjoy  a  visit  to  a  Monday  sale 
at  one  of  our  big  department  stores,  and 
I  am  quite  as  well  aware  that  nine  out  of 
ten  women  in  Hades  or  out  of  it  would 
enjoy  the  millinery  exhibition  at  the  opera 
matinee — and  if  these  two  ideas  impress 
you  at  all  you  are  welcome  to  them — 
94 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

but  beyond  this  I  have  nothing  to  sug 
gest." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  those  two  ideas  are 
worth  a  great  deal,"  returned  Boswell, 
making  a  note  of  them  ;  "  I  shall  an 
nounce  four  trips  to  Monday  sales — " 

"Call  'em  'To  Bargaindale  and  Back: 
The  Great  Marked-down  Tour,'  and  be 
sure  you  add,  '  For  Able-bodied  Women 
Only.  No  Tickets  Issued  Except  on  Rec 
ommendation  of  your  Family  Physician.' 
This  is  especially  important,  for  next  to  a 
war  or  a  football  match  there's  nothing 
that  I  know  of  that  is  quite  so  dangerous 
to  the  participants  as  a  bargain  day." 

"  I'll  bear  what  you  say  in  mind,"  quoth 
Boswell,  and  he  made  a  note  of  my  in 
junction.  "And  immediately  upon  my 
return  to  Hades  I  will  request  an  audience 
with  Henry's  queens,  and  ask  them  to  de 
vise  a  number  of  other  tours  likely  to 
prove  profitable  and  popular." 

Shortly  after  my  visitor  departed  and  I 
retired.  The  next  day  my  family  deserted 
me  and  went  to  the  mountains,  and  all 
95 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

my  fears  as  to  the  inordinate  sense  of  lone 
liness  which  was  to  be  my  lot  were  realized. 
Even  Boswell  neglected  me  apparently  for 
a  week.  I  went  to  my  desk  daily  and  re 
turned  at  night  hoping  that  my  type 
writer  would  bring  forth  something  of 
an  interesting  nature,  but  naught  other 
than  disappointment  awaited  me.  For  a 
whole  blessed  week  I  was  thrown  back 
upon  the  society  of  my  neighbors  for  di 
version.  The  type-writer  gave  no  sign  of 
being. 

Little  did  I  guess  that  Boswell  was  busy 
working  up  my  scheme  in  his  Stygian 
home  ! 

But  it  came  to  pass  finally  that  I  was 
roused  up.  Walking  one  morning  to  my 
desk  to  find  a  bit  of  memoranda  I  needed, 
I  discovered  a  type-written  slip  marked, 
"  No  time  for  small  talk.  BoswelTs  tours 
grand  success.  Trolley-party  to-night. 
Ten  cars  wanted.  Jim." 

It  was  a  large  order  for  a  town  like  mine, 
where  forty  thousand  people  have  to  get 
along  with  five  cars — two  open  ones  for 
06 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

winter  and  two  closed  for  summer,  and 
one,  which  we  have  never  seen,  which  is 
kept  for  use  in  the  repair-shop.  I  was  in 
despair.  Ten  car-loads  of  immortals  com 
ing  to  my  house  for  a  trolley-party  under 
such  conditions !  It  was  frightful  !  I 
did  the  best  I  could,  however. 

I  ordered  one  trolley-car  to  be  ready  at 
eight,  and  a  large  variety  of  good  things 
edible  and  drinkable,  the  latter  to  be  held 
subject  to  the  demand-notes  of  our  guests. 

As  may  be  imagined,  I  did  little  real 
work  that  day,  and  when  I  returned  home 
at  night  I  was  on  tenter-hooks  lest  some 
thing  should  go  wrong ;  but  fortunately 
Boswell  himself  came  early  and  relieved 
me  of  my  worry — in  fact,  he  was  at  the 
machine  when  I  entered  the  house. 

"Well/'  he  said,  "have  you  the  ten 
cars  ?" 

"  What  do  you  take  me  for,"  said  I, 
"  a  trolley-car  trust  ?  Of  course  I  haven't. 
There  are  only  five  cars  in  town,  one  of 
which  is  kept  in  the  repair-shop  for  effect. 
I've  hired  one." 

G  97 


THE   ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITER 

"  Humph  !"  he  cried.  "  What  will  the 
kings  do  ?" 

"  Kings  I"  I  cried.     "  What  kings  ?" 

"  I  have  nine  kings  and  one  car-load  of 
common  souls  besides  for  this  affair/'  he 
explained.  "Each  king  wants  a  special 
car." 

"  Kings  be  jiggered  !"  said  I.  "A  trol 
ley-party,  my  much  beloved  James,  is  an 
essentially  democratic  institution,  and  pri 
vate  cars  are  not  de  rigueur.  If  your 
kings  choose  to  come,  let  'em  hang  on  by 
the  straps." 

"But  I've  charged  'em  extra!"  cried 
Boswell. 

"That's  all  right/'  said  I,  "they  re 
ceive  extra.  They  have  the  ride  plus  the 
straps,  with  the  privilege  of  standing  out 
on  the  platform  and  ringing  the  gong  if 
they  want  to.  The  great  thing  about  the 
trolley-party  is  that  there's  no  private-car 
business  about  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Boswell  mur 
mured,  reflectively.  "  If  Charles  the 
First  and  Louis  Fourteenth  don't  kick 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

about  being  crowded  in  with  all  the  rest, 
I  can  stand  anything  that  Frederick  the 
Great  or  Nero  may  say ;  but  those  two 
fellows  are  great  sticklers  for  the  royal 
prerogative/' 

"  There  isn't  any  such  thing  as  royal 
prerogative  on  a  trolley-car,"  I  retorted, 
"and  if  they  don't  like  what  they  get 
they  can  sit  down  in  the  waiting-room 
and  wait  until  we  get  back." 

But  BoswelFs  fears  were  not  realized. 
Charles  and  Louis  were  perfectly  de 
lighted  with  the  trolley -party,  and  long 
before  we  reached  home  the  former  had 
rung  up  the  fare-register  to  its  full  capac 
ity,  while  the  latter,  a  half-a-dozen  times, 
delightedly  occupied  himself  in  mastering 
the  intricacies  of  the  overhead  wire.  The 
trolley-party  was  an  undoubted  success. 
The  same  remains  to  be  said  of  the  vaude 
ville  expedition  the  following  week.  The 
same  guests  and  potentates  attended  this, 
to  the  number  of  twenty,  and  the  Bos- 
well  tours  were  accounted  a  great  enter 
prise,  and  bade  fair  to  redeem  the  losses 


THE   ENCHANTED  TYPE-WRITER 

of  the  eminent  journalist  incurred  during 
Xanthippe's  administration  of  his  affairs  ; 
but  after  the  bicycle  night  I  had  to  with 
draw  from  the  combination  to  save  my 
reputation.  The  fact  upon  which  I  had 
not  counted  was  that  rny  neighbors  began 
to  think  me  insane.  I  had  failed  to  re 
member  that  none  of  these  visiting  spirits 
was  visible  to  us  in  this  material  world, 
and  while  my  fellow-townsmen  were  dis 
posed  to  lay  up  my  hiring  of  a  special 
trolley-car  for  my  own  private  and  partic 
ular  use  against  the  eccentricity  of  genius, 
they  marvelled  greatly  that  I  should  pur 
chase  twenty  of  the  best  seats  at  a  vaude 
ville  show  seemingly  for  my  own  exclusive 
use.  When,  besides  this,  they  saw  me 
start  off  apparently  alone  on  one  tandem 
bicycle,  followed  by  twenty -eight  other 
empty  wheels,  which  they  could  not  know 
were  manipulated  by  some  of  the  most 
famous  legs  in  the  history  of  the  world, 
from  Noah's  down  to  those  of  Henry 
Fielding  the  novelist,  they  began  to  re 
gard  me  as  something  uncanny. 
100 


LOUIS   THE    FOURTEENTH  .    .    .   MASTERING    THE   IN 
TRICACIES  OF   THE   OVERHEAD  WIRE" 


THE    BOSWELL    TOURS 

'Nor  can  I  blame  them.  It  seems  to  me 
that  if  I  saw  one  man  scorching  along  a 
road  alone  on  a  tandem  bicycle  chatting  to 
an.  empty  front-seat,  I  should  think  him 
queer,  but  if  following  in  his  wake  I  per 
ceived  twenty-eight  other  wheels,  scorch 
ing  up  hill  and  down  dale  without  any  visi 
ble  motive  power,  I  should  regard  him  as 
one  who  was  in  league  with  the  devil 
himself. 

Nevertheless,  I  judge  from  what  Bos- 
well  has  told  me  that  I  am  regarded  in 
Hades  as  a  great  benefactor  of  the  people 
there,  for  having  established  a  series  of 
excursions  from  that  world  into  this,  a 
service  which  has  done  much  to  convince 
the  Stygiaus  that  after  all,  if  only  by  con 
trast,  the  life  below  has  its  redeeming  feat 
ures. 


VII 
AN   IMPORTANT    DECISION 

FOR  some  time  after  the  organization 
of  the  Pleasure  Tours,  the  Enchanted 
Type -writer  appeared  to  be  deserted. 
Night  after  night  I  watched  over  it  with 
great  care  lest  I  should  lose  any  item  of 
interest  that  might  come  to  me  from  he- 
low,  but,  much  to  my  sorrow,  things  in 
Hades  appeared  to  be  dull — so  dull  that 
the  machine  was  not  called  into  requi 
sition  at  all.  I  little  guessed  what  im 
portant  matters  were  transpiring  in  that 
wonderful  country.  Had  I  done  so,  I 
doubt  I  should  have  waited  so  patiently, 
although  my  only  method  of  getting  there 
was  suicide,  for  which  diversion  I  have 
very  little  liking.  On  the  twenty-fourth 
102 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

night  of  waiting,  however,  the  welcome 
sound  of  the  bell  dragged  me  forth  from 
my  comfortable  couch,  whither,  expecting 
nothing,  I  had  retired  early. 

"Glad  to  hear  your  pleasant  tinkle 
again,"  I  said.  "  Fve  missed  you." 

"Fin  glad  to  get  back,"  returned  Bos- 
well,  for  it  was  he  who  was  manipu 
lating  the  keys.  "Fve  been  so  infer 
nally  busy,  however,  over  the  court 
news,  that  I  haven't  had  a  minute  to 
spare." 

"Court  news,  eh  ?"  I  said.  "You  are 
going  to  open  up  a  society  column,  are 
you  ?" 

"Not  I,"  he  replied.  "It's  the  other 
kind  of  a  court.  We've  been  having  some 
pretty  hot  litigation  down  in  Hades  since 
I  was  here  last.  The  city  of  Cimmeria 
has  been  suing  the  State  of  Hades  for  ten 
years  back  dog-taxes." 

"For  what?"  I  cried. 

"Unpaid  dog-taxes  for  ten  years,"  Bos- 
well  explained.  "We  have  just  as  much 
government  below  in  our  cities  as  you 
103 


TUB   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

have,  and  I  will  say  for  Hades  that  our 
cities  are  better  run  than  yours." 

"I  suppose  that  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
when  a  man  gets  to  Hades  he  immediately 
becomes  a  reformer/'  I  suggested,  with  a 
wink  at  the  machine,  which  somehow  or 
other  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  joke. 

"  Possibly,"  observed  Boswell.  "What 
ever  the  reason,  however,  the  fact  remains 
that  Cimmeria  is  a  well -governed  city, 
and,  what  is  more,  it  isn't  afraid  to  assert 
its  rights  even  as  against  old  Apollyon 
himself." 

"It's  safe  enough  for  a  corporation," 
said  I.  "  Much  safer  for  a  corporation 
which  has  no  soul,  than  for  an  individual 
who  has.  You  can't  torture  a  city— 

"Oh,  can't  you!"  laughed  Boswell. 
"  Humph.  Apollyon  can  make  it  as  hot 
for  a  city  as  he  can  for  an  individual.  It 
is  evident  that  you  never  heard  of  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah — which  is  surprising  to  me, 
since  your  jokes  about  Lot's  wife  being 
too  fresh  and  getting  salted  down,  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  you  had  heard  some- 
104 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

thing  about  the  punishment  those  cities 
underwent." 

"You  are  right,  Bozzy,"  I  said.  "I 
had  forgotten.  But  tell  me  about  the 
dog-tax.  Does  the  State  own  a  dog  ?" 

"Does  it?"  roared  Boswell.  "Why, 
my  dear  fellow,  where  were  you  brought 
up  and  educated.  Does  the  State  own  a 
dog!" 

"  That's  what  I  asked  you,"  I  put  in, 
meekly.  "  I  may  be  very  ignorant,  un 
less  you  mean  the  kind  that  we  have  in 
our  legislatures,  called  the  watch-dogs  of 
the  treasury,  or,  perhaps,  the  dogs  of  war. 
But  I  never  thought  any  city  would  be 
crazy  enough  to  make  the  government 
take  out  a  license  for  them." 

"Never  heard  of  a  beast  named  Cer 
berus,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Boswell. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  I  answered.  "  He  guards 
the  gates  to  the  infernal  regions." 

"Well— he's  the  bone  of  contention," 

said  Boswell.    "You  see,  about  ten  years 

ago  the  people  of   Cimmeria   got  rather 

tired  of   the  condition   of   their   streets. 

105 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

They  were  badly  paved.  They  were  full 
of  good  intentions,  but  the  citizens  thought 
they  ought  to  have  something  more  last 
ing,  so  they  voted  to  appropriate  an  enor 
mous  sum  for  asphalting.  They  didn't 
realize  how  sloppy  asphalt  would  become 
in  that  climate,  but  after  the  asphalt  was 
put  down  they  found  out,  and  a  Beelzebub 
of  a  time  of  it  they  had.  Pegasus  sprained 
his  off  hind  leg  by  slipping  on  it,  Bu 
cephalus  got  into  it  with  all  four  feet 
and  had  to  be  lifted  out  with  a  derrick, 
and  every  other  fine  horse  we  had  was 
more  or  less  injured,  and  the  damage 
suits  against  the  city  were  enormous. 
To  remedy  this,  the  asphalting  was  taken 
up  and  a  Nicholson  wood  pavement  was 
put  down.  This  was  worse  than  the  other. 
It  used  to  catch  fire  every  other  night, 
and,  finally,  to  protect  their  houses,  the 
people  rose  up  en  masse  and  ripped  it  all 
to  pieces. 

"This  necessitated  a  third  new  pave 
ment,  of  Belgian  blocks,  to  pay  for  which 
the  already  overburdened   city   of   Cim- 
106 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

meria  had  to  issue  bonds  to  an  enormous 
amount,  all  of  which  necessitated  an  in 
crease  of  taxes.  Naturally,  one  of  the 
first  taxes  to  be  imposed  was  a  dog-tax, 
and  it  was  that  which  led  to  this  lawsuit, 
which,  I  regret  to  say,  the  city  has  lost, 
although  Judge  Blackstone's  decision  was 
eminently  fair." 

"  Wouldn't  the  State  pay  ?"  I  asked. 

«Yes — on  Cerberus  as  one  dog,"  said 
Boswell.  "The  city  claimed,  however, 
that  Cerberus  was  more  than  that,  and 
endeavored  to  collect  on  three  dogs — one 
license  for  each  head.  This  the  State 
declined  to  pay,  and  out  of  this  grew 
farther  complications  of  a  distressing  nat 
ure.  The  city  sent  its  dog-catchers  up  to 
abscond  with  the  dog,  intending  to  cut  off 
two  of  its  heads,  and  return  the  balance  as 
being  as  much  of  the  beast  as  the  State  was 
entitled  to  maintain  on  a  single  license.  It 
was  an  unfortunate  move,  for  when  Cer 
berus  himself  took  the  situation  in,  which 
he  did  at  a  glance,  he  nabbed  the  dog- 
catcher  by  the  coat-tails  with  one  pair  of 
107 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

jaws,  grabbed  hold  of  his  collar  with  an 
other,  and  shook  him  as  he  would  a  rat, 
meanwhile  chewing  up  other  portions  of 
the  unfortunate  official  with  his  third  set 
of  teeth.  The  functionary  was  then  car 
ried  home  on  a  stretcher,  and  subsequent 
ly  sued  the  city  for  damages,  which  he 
recovered. 

"Another  man  was  sent  out  to  lure  the 
ferocious  beast  to  the  pound  with  a  lasso, 
but  it  worked  no  better  than  the  previous 
attempt.  The  lasso  fell  all  right  and 
tight  about  one  of  the  animal's  necks,  but 
his  other  two  heads  immediately  set  to 
work  and  gnawed  the  rope  through,  and 
then  set  off  after  the  dog-catcher,  over 
taking  him  at  the  very  door  of  the  pound. 
This  time  he  didn't  do  any  biting,  but 
lifting  the  dog-catcher  up  with  his  various 
sets  of  teeth,  fastened  to  his  collar,  coat- 
tails,  and  feet  respectively,  carried  him 
yelling  like  a  trooper  to  the  end  of  the 
wharf  and  dropped  him  into  the  Styx. 
The  result  of  this  was  nervous  prostration 
for  the  dog-catcher,  another  suit  for  dam- 
108 


H 
C    B 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

ages  for  the  city,  and  a  great  langh  for 
the  State  authorities.  In  fact,"  Boswell 
added,  confidentially,  "I  think  perhaps 
the  reason  why  the  Prime-minister  hasn't 
got  Apollyon  to  hang  the  whole  city  gov 
ernment  has  been  due  to  the  fun  they've 
got  out  of  seeing  Cerberus  and  the  city 
fighting  it  out  together.  There's  no  doubt 
about  it  that  he  is  a  wonderful  dog,  and 
is  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  himself." 

"But  the  outcome  of  the  case?"  I 
asked,  much  interested. 

"Defeat  for  the  city,"  said  Boswell. 
"Failing  to  enforce  its  authority  by 
means  of  its  servants,  the  city  undertook 
to  recover  by  due  process  of  law.  The 
dog -catchers  were  powerless;  the  police 
declined  to  act  on  the  advice  of  the  com 
missioners,  since  dog -catching  was  not 
within  their  province ;  and  the  fire  depart 
ment  averred  that  it  was  designed  for  the 
putting  out  of  fires  and  not  for  extinguish 
ing  fiery  canines  like  Cerberus.  The  dog, 
meanwhile,  to  show  his  contempt  for  the 
city,  chewed  the  license-tag  off  the  neck 
109 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

upon  which  it  had  been  placed,  and  drop 
ped  it  into  a  smelting-pot  inside  the  gates 
of  the  infernal  regions  that  was  reserved 
to  bring  political  prisoners  to  their  senses, 
and,  worse  than  all,  made  a  perfect  nui 
sance  of  himself  by  barking  all  day  and 
baying  all  night,  rain  or  shine. 

"  Papers  in  a  suit  at  law  were  then 
served  on  Mazarin  and  the  other  members 
of  Apollyon's  council,  the  causes  of  com 
plaint  were  recited,  and  damages  for  ten 
years  back  taxes  on  two  dogs,  plus  the 
amounts  recovered  from  the  city  by  the  two 
injured  dog  -  catchers,  were  demanded. 
The  suit  was  put  upon  the  calendar,  and 
Apollyon  himself  sat  upon  the  bench  with 
Judge  Blackstone,  before  whom  the  case 
was  to  be  tried. 

' '  On  both  sides  the  arguments  were  ex 
ceedingly  strong.  Coke  appeared  for  the 
city  and  Catiline  for  the  State.  After  the 
complaint  was  read,  the  attorney  for  the 
State  put  in  his  answer,  that  the  State's 
contention  was  that  the  ordinance  had 
been  complied  with,  that  Cerberus  was 
110 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

only  one  dog,  and  that  the  license  had 
been  paid ;  that  the  license  having  been 
paid,  the  dog -catchers  had  no  right  to 
endeavor  to  abduct  the  animal,  and  that 
having  done  so  they  did  it  at  their  own 
peril ;  that  the  suit  ought  to  be  dismissed, 
but  that  for  the  fun  of  the  thing  the  State 
was  perfectly  willing  to  let  it  go  on. 

"In  rebuttal  the  plaintiff  claimed  that 
Cerberus  was  three  dogs  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  and  the  first  dog-catcher  was 
called  to  testify.  After  giving  his  name 
and  address  he  was  asked  a  few  questions 
of  minor  importance,  and  then  Coke 
asked  : 

" '  Are  you  familiar  with  dogs  ?' 

"'Moderately/  was  the  answer.  'I 
never  got  quite  so  intimate  with  one  as  I 
did  with  him.' 

"  '  With  whom  ?'  asked  Coke. 

"  '  Cerberus/  replied  the  witness. 

"  'Do  you  consider  him  to  be  one  dog, 
two  dogs,  or  three  dogs  ?' 

"  (  I  object  I'  cried  Catiline,  springing  to 
his  feet.     '  The  question  is  a  leading  one/ 
111 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"'Sustained/  said  Blackstone,  with  a 
nervous  glance  at  Apollyon,  who  smiled 
reassuringly  at  him. 

" '  Ah,  you  say  you  know  a  dog  when 
you  see  one  ?'  asked  Coke. 

"  '  Yes/  said  the  witness,  ( perfectly.' 

"  '  Do  you  know  two  dogs  when  you  see 
them,  or  even  three  ?'  asked  Coke. 

"  '  I  do/  replied  the  witness. 

"  f  And  how  many  dogs  did  you  see  when 
you  saw  Cerberus  ?'  asked  Coke,  trium 
phantly. 

"  '  Three,  anyhow/  replied  the  witness, 
with  feeling,  '  though  afterwards  I 
thought  there  was  a  whole  bench-show 
atop  of  me/ 

"  '  Your  witness/  said  Coke. 

"A  murmur  of  applause  went  through 
the  court-room,  at  which  Apollyon  frown 
ed  ;  but  his  face  cleared  in  a  moment 
when  Catiline  rose  up. 

"'My  cross-examination  of  this  wit 
ness,  your  honor,  will  be  confined  to  one 
question/  Then  turning  to  the  witness 
he  said,  blandly  :  '  My  poor  friend,  if  you 
112 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

considered  Cerberus  to  be  three  dogs 
anyhow,  why  did  you  in  your  examination 
a  moment  since  refer  to  the  avalanche  of 
caninity,  of  which  you  so  affectingly  speak, 
as  him  ?' 

" '  He  is  a  him/  said  the  witness. 

" '  But  if  there  were  three,  should  he 
not  have  been  a  them  ?' 

"Coke  swore  profanely  beneath  his 
breath,  and  the  witness  squirmed  about 
in  his  chair,  confused  and  broken,  while 
both  Judge  Blackstone  and  Apollyon 
smiled  broadly.  Manifestly  the  point  of 
the  defence  had  pierced  the  armor  of 
the  plaintiff. 

" '  Your  witness  for  re-direct/  said  Cati 
line. 

"'No,  thanks/  retorted  Coke;  'there 
are  others/  and,  motioning  to  his  first 
witness  to  step  down,  he  called  the  second 
dog-catcher. 

"  '  What  is  your  business  ?'  asked  Coke, 
after  the  usual  preliminary  questions. 

"  '  I'm  out  of  business.     Livin'  on  my 
damages/  said  the  witness. 
H  113 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"  '  What  damages  ?'  asked  Coke. 

"  '  Them  I  got  from  the  city  for  injuries 
did  me  by  that  there — I  should  say  them 
there — dorgs,  Cerberus/ 

' ' '  Them  there  what  ?'  persisted  Coke, 
to  emphasize  the  point. 

11 '  Dorgs,'  said  the  witness,  convincing 
ly— 'D-o-r-g-s.' 

"  '  Why  s  ?'  queried  Coke.  '  We  may 
admit  the  r,  but  why  the  s  ?' 

" '  Because  it's  the  pullural  of  dorg. 
Cerberus  ain't  any  single-headed  commis 
sion/  said  the  witness,  who  was  some 
thing  of  a  ward  politician. 

"  *  Why  do  you  say  that  Cerberus  is  more 
than  one  dog  ?' 

"  '  Because  I've  had  experience,' replied 
the  witness.  'I've  seen  the  time  when 
he  was  everywhere  all  at  once  ;  that's  why 
I  say  he's  more  than  one  dorg.  If  he'd 
been  only  one  dorg  he  couldn't  have  been 
anywhere  else  than  where  he  was.' 

"  '  When  was  that  ?' 

"  '  When  I  lassoed  him/ 

"  '  Him  ?'  remonstrated  Coke. 
114 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

"  '  Yes/  said  the  witness.  '  I  only  caught 
one  of  him,  and  then  the  other  two  took 
a  hand.' 

"  '  Ah,  the  other  two/  said  Coke.  '  Yon 
know  dogs  when  you  see  them  ?' 

'"  I  do,  and  he  was  all  of  'em  in  a  bunch/ 
replied  the  witness. 

"'Your  witness/  said  Coke. 

"'My  friend/  said  Catiline,  rising  qui 
etly.  '  How  many  men  are  you  ?' 

"  'One,  sir/  was  the  answer. 

"  '  Have  you  ever  been  in  two  places  at 
once  ?' 

"•Yes,  sir/ 

"< When  was  that?' 

"  '  When  I  was  in  jail  and  in  London  all 
at  the  same  time.' 

"'Very  good;  but  were  you  in  two 
places  on  the  day  of  this  attack  upon 
you  by  Cerberus  ?' 

"'No,  sir.  I  wish  I  had  been.  I'd 
have  stayed  in  the  other  place/ 

"'Then  if  you  were  in  but  one  place 
yourself,  how  do  you  know  that  Cerberus 
was  in  more  than  one  place  ?' 
115 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"  '  Well,  I  guess  if  you— 

'"Answer  the  question,'  said  Catiline. 

"'Oh,  well — of  course — 

"  '  Of  course,'  echoed  Catiline.  '  That's 
it,  your  honor;  it  is  only  "  of  course," — and 
I  rest  my  case.  We  have  no  witnesses  to 
call.  We  have  proven  by  their  own  wit 
nesses  that  there  is  no  evidence  of  Cer 
berus  being  more  than  one  dog/ 

"You  ought  to  have  heard  the  cheers 
as  Catiline  sat  down,"  continued  Boswell. 
"  As  for  poor  Coke,  he  was  regularly 
knocked  out,  but  he  rose  up  to  sum  up 
his  case  as  best  he  could.  Blackstone, 
however,  stopped  him  right  at  the  be 
ginning. 

'"The  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  might 
as  well  sit  down,' he  said,  'and  save  his 
breath.  I've  decided  this  case  in  favor 
of  the  defendant  long  ago.  It  is  plain 
to  every  one  that  Cerberus  is  only  one 
clog,  in  spite  of  his  many  talents  and 
manifest  ability  to  be  in  several  places  at 
once,  and  inasmuch  as  the  tax  which  is 
sued  for  is  merely  a  dog-tax  and  not  a 
116 


AN    IMPORTANT    DECISION 

poll-tax,  I  must  render  judgment  for  the 
defendants,  with  costs.  Next  case/ 

"  And  the  city  of  Cimmeria  was  thrown 
out  of  court/'  concluded  Boswell.  "In 
teresting,  eh  ?" 

"  Very/'  said  I.  "  But  how  will  this  af 
fect  Blackstone  ?  Isn't  he  a  City  Judge  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Boswell;  "he  was,  but 
his  term  expired  this  morning,  and  this 
afternoon  Apollyon  appointed  him  Chief 
Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Hades." 


VIII 
A   HAND-BOOK   TO   HADES 

"  BOSWELL,"  said  I,  the  other  night,  as 
the  machine  began  to  click  nervously. 
"  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  an 
unknown  friend  in  Hawaii  who  wants  to 
know  how  the  prize-fight  between  Samson 
and  Goliath  came  out  that  time  when  Kidd 
and  his  pirate  crow  stole  the  House-Boat 
on  the  Styx/' 

"Just  wait  a  minute,  please,"  the  ma 
chine  responded.  "I  am  very  busy  just 
now  mapping  out  the  itinerary  of  the  first 
series  of  the  Boswell  Personally  Conducted 
Tours  you  suggested  some  time  ago.  I 
laid  that  whole  proposition  before  the 
Entertainment  Committee  of  the  Associ 
ated  Shades,  and  they  have  resolved  unan- 
118 


A    HAND-BOOK    TO    HADES 

imonsly  to  charter  the  Ex-Great  Eastern 
from  the  Styx  Navigation  Company,  and 
return  to  the  scenes  of  their  former  glory, 
devoting  a  year  to  it." 

"  Going  to  take  their  wives  ?"  I  asked. 

" I  don't  know,"  Boswell  replied.  "That 
is  a  matter  outside  of  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  committee  and  must  be  decided  by  a 
full  vote  of  the  club.  I  hope  they  will, 
however.  As  manager  of  the  enterprise  I 
need  assistance,  and  there  are  some  of  the 
men  who  can't  be  managed  by  anybody 
except  their  wives,  or  mothers-in-law,  any 
how.  Fll  be  through  in  a  few  minutes. 
Meanwhile  let  me  hand  you  the  latest 
product  of  the  Boswell  press." 

With  this  the  genial  spirit  produced 
from  an  invisible  pocket  a  red -covered 
book  bearing  the  delicious  title  of  "Baed 
eker's  Hades  :  A  Hand-book  for  Trarel- 
lers,"  which  has  entirely  superseded,  ac 
cording  to  the  advertisement  on  the  fly 
leaves,  such  books  as  Virgil  and  Dante's 
Inferno  as  the  best  guide  to  the  lower  re 
gions,  as  well  it  might,  for  it  appeared  on 
119 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

perusal  to  have  been  prepared  with  as 
much  care  as  one  of  the  more  material 
guide-books  of  the  same  publisher,  which 
so  greatly  assist  travellers  on  this  side  of 
the  Stygian  River. 

Some  time,  if  Boswell  will  permit,  I 
shall  endeavor  to  have  this  little  volume 
published  in  this  country  since  it  con 
tains  many  valuable  hints  to  the  man  of 
a  roving  disposition,  or  for  the  stay-at- 
home,  for  that  matter,  for  all  roads  lead 
to  Hades.  For  instance,  we  do  not  find 
in  previous  guide-books,  like  Dante's  In 
ferno,  any  references  whatsoever  to  the 
languages  it  is  well  to  know  before  taking 
the  Stygian  tour ;  to  the  kind  of  money 
needed,  or  its  quantity  per  capita  ;  no 
allusion  to  the  necessity  of  passports  is 
found  in  Dante  or  Virgil;  custom-house 
requirements  are  ignored  by  these  au 
thors  ;  no  statements  as  to  the  kind  of 
clothing  needed,  the  quality  of  the  hotels 
— nor  indeed  any  real  information  of  vital 
importance  to  the  traveller  is  to  be  found 
in  the  older  books.  In  Baedeker's  Hades, 
120 


A    HAND-BOOK    TO    HADES 

on  the  other  hand,  all  these  subjects  are 
exhaustively  treated,  together  with  a  very 
comprehensive  series  of  chapters  on  "Sty 
gian  Wines/'  "Climate,"  and  "Hellish 
Art" — the  expression  is  not  mine — and 
other  topics  of  essential  interest. 

And  of  what  suggestive  quality  was  this 
little  book.  Who  would  ever  have  guessed 
from  a  perusal  of  Dante  that  as  Hades  is 
the  place  of  departed  spirits  so  also  is  it 
the  ultimate  resting-place  of  all  other  de 
parted  things  ?  What  delightful  anticipa 
tions  are  there  in  the  idea  of  a  visit  to  the 
Alexandrian  library,  now  suitably  housed 
on  the  south  side  of  Apollyon  Square, 
Cimmeria,  in  a  building  that  would  drive 
the  trustees  of  the  Boston  Public  Library 
into  envious  despair,  even  though  living 
Bacchantes  are  found  daily  improving 
their  minds  in  the  recesses  of  its  commo 
dious  alcoves  !  What  joyous  feelings  it 
gives  one  to  think  of  visiting  the  navy- 
yards  of  Tyre  and  finding  there  the  ships 
concerning  the  whereabouts  of  which 
poets  have  vainly  asked  questions  for  ages ! 
121 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

Who  would  ever  dream  that  the  question 
of  the  balladist,  himself  an  able  dreamer 
concerning  classic  things,  "  Where  are  the 
Cities  of  Old  Time/'  could  ever  find  its 
answer  in  a  simple  guide-book  telling  us 
where  Carthage  is,  where  Troy  and  all  the 
lost  cities  of  antiquity  ! 

Then  the  details  of  amusements  in  this 
wonderful  country  —  who  could  gather 
aught  of  these  from  the  Italian  poet? 
The  theatres  of  Gehenna,  with  "  Hamlet  " 
produced  under  the  joint  direction  of 
Shakespeare  and  the  Prince  of  Denmark 
himself,  the  great  Zoo  of  Sheolia,  with 
Jumbo,  and  the  famous  woolly  horse  of 
earlier  days,  not  to  mention  the  long  se 
ries  of  menageries  which  have  passed  over 
the  dark  river  in  the  ages  now  forgotten  ; 
the  hanging  gardens  of  Babylon,  where 
the  picnicking  element  of  Hades  flock 
week  after  week,  chuting  the  chutes,  and 
clambering  joyously  in  and  out  of  the 
Trojan  Horse,  now  set  up  in  all  its  majesty 
therein,  with  bowling-alleys  on  its  roof, 
elevators  in  its  legs,  and  the  original 
122 


A    HAND-BOOK    TO    HADES 

Ferris-wheel  in  its  head  ;  the  freak  muse 
ums  in  the  densely  populated  sections  of 
the  large  cities,  where  Hop  o'  my  Thumb 
and  Jack  the  G-iant  Killer  are  exhibited  day 
after  day  alongside  of  the  great  ogres  they 
have  killed  ;  the  opera-house,  with  Sieg 
fried  himself  singing,  supported  by  the 
real  Brunhild  and  the  original,  bona  fide 
dragon  Fafnir,  running  of  his  own  motive 
power,  and  breathing  actual  fire  and 
smoke  without  the  aid  of  a  steam-engine 
and  a  plumber  to  connect  him  therewith 
before  he  can  go  out  upon  the  stage  to 
engage  Siegfried  in  deadly  combat. 

For  the  information  contained  in  this 
last  item  alone,  even  if  the  book  had  no 
other  virtue,  it  would  be  worthy  of  care 
ful  perusal  from  the  opening  paragraph 
on  language,  to  the  last,  dealing  with  the 
descent  into  the  Vitriol  Reservoir  at  Ge 
henna.  The  account  of  the  feeding  of 
Fafnir,  to  which  admission  can  be  had  on 
payment  of  ten  oboli,  beginning  with  a 
puree  of  kerosene,  followed  a  half-dozen 
cartridges  on  the  half  -  shell,  an  entree  of 
123 


THE   ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

nitre-glycerine,  a  solid  roast  of  cannel- 
coal,  and  a  salad  of  gun-cotton,  with  a 
mayonnaise  dressing  of  alcohol  and  a  pinch 
of  powder,  topped  off  with  a  demi-tasse  of 
benzine  and  a  box  of  matches  to  keep  the 
fires  of  his  spirit  going,  is  one  of  the  most 
moving  things  I  have  ever  read,  and  yet  it 
may  be  said  without  fear  of  contradiction 
that  until  this  guide-book  was  prepared 
very  few  of  the  Stygian  tourists  have  im 
agined  that  there  was  such  a  sight  to  be 
seen.  I  have  gone  carefully  over  Dante, 
Virgil,  and  the  works  of  Andrew  Lang, 
and  have  found  no  reference  whatsoever 
in  the  pages  of  any  of  these  talented  per 
sons  to  this  marvellous  spectacle  which 
takes  place  three  times  a  day,  and  which 
I  doubt  not  results  in  a  performance  of 
Siegfried  for  the  delectation  of  the  music 
lovers  of  Hades,  which  is  beyond  the 
power  of  the  human  mind  to  conceive. 

The  hand-book  has  an  added  virtue, 

which  distinguishes  it  from  any  other  that 

I  have  ever  seen,  in  that  it  is  anecdotal  in 

style  at  times  where  an  anecdote  is  avail- 

124 


A    HAND-BOOK    TO    HADES 

able  and  appropriate.  In  connection  with 
this  same  Fafnir,  as  showing  how  neces 
sary  it  is  for  the  tourist  to  be  careful  of 
his  personal  safety  in  Hades,  it  is  related 
that  upon  one  occasion  the  keeper  of  the 
dragon  having  taken  a  grudge  against 
Siegfried  for  some  unintentional  slight, 
fed  Fafnir  upon  Roman -candles  and  a 
sky-rocket,  with  the  result  that  in  the  fight 
between  the  hero  and  the  demon  of  the 
wood  the  Siegfried  was  seriously  injured 
by  the  red,  white,  and  blue  balls  of  fire 
which  the  dragon  breathed  out  upon  him, 
while  the  sky-rocket  flew  out  into  the 
audience  and  struck  a  young  man  in  the 
top  gallery,  knocking  him  senseless,  the 
stick  falling  into  a  grand-tier  box  and  im 
paling  one  of  the  best  known  social  lights 
of  Cimmeria.  "  Therefore,"  adds  the  as 
tute  editor  of  the  hand-book,  "on  Sieg 
fried  nights  it  were  well  if  the  tourist 
were  to  go  provided  with  an  asbestos 
umbrella  for  use  in  case  of  an  emergency 
of  a  similar  nature/7 

In  that  portion  of  the  book  devoted  to 
125 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

the  trip  up  the  river  Styx  the  legends  far 
surpass  any  of  the  Rhine  stories  in  dra 
matic  interest,  because,  according  to  Com 
modore  Charon's  excursion  system,  the 
tourist  can  step  ashore  and  see  the  chief 
actors  in  them,  who  for  a  consideration  will 
give  a  full-dress  rehearsal  of  the  legendary 
acts  for  which  they  have  been  famous. 
The  sirens  of  the  Stygian  Lorelei,  for  in 
stance,  sit  on  an  eminence  not  far  above 
the  city  of  Cimmeria,  and  make  a  profes 
sion  of  luring  people  ashore  and  giving 
away  at  so  much  per  head  locks  of  their 
hair  for  remembrance'  sake,  all  of  which 
makes  of  the  Stygian  trip  a  thing  of  far 
greater  interest  than  that  of  the  Rhine. 

It  had  been  my  intention  to  make  a  few 
extracts  from  this  portion  of  the  volume 
showing  later  developments  in  the  legends 
of  the  Dracheufels,  and  others  of  more 
than  ordinary  interest,  but  I  find  that 
with  the  departure  of  Boswell  for  the 
night  the  treasured  hand-book  disappeared 
with  him ;  but,  as  I  have  already  stated,  if 
I  can  secure  his  consent  to  do  so  I  will 
126 


INJURED   BY   THE   BALLS    OF   FIRE   WHICH    THE 
DRAGON    BREATHED    OUT  " 


A    HAND-BOOK    TO    HADES 

some  day  have  the  book  copied  off  on  more 
material  substance  than  that  employed  in 
the  original  manuscript,  so  that  the  use 
ful  little  tome  may  be  printed  and  scat 
tered  broadcast  over  a  waiting  and  ap 
preciative  world.  I  may  as  well  state 
here,  too,  that  I  have  taken  the  precau 
tion  to  have  the  title  "  Baedeker's  Hades  " 
and  its  contents  copyrighted,  so  that  any 
pirate  who  recognizes  the  value  of  the 
scheme  will  attempt  to  pirate  the  work  at 
his  peril. 

Hardly  had  I  finished  the  chapter  on 
the  legends  of  the  Styx  when  Boswell 
broke  in  upon  me  with  :  "Well,  how  do 
you  like  it  ?" 

"  It's  great,"  I  said.    "  May  I  keep  it  ?" 

"You  may  if  you  can/'  he  laughed. 
"  But  I  fancy  it  can't  withstand  the  rigors 
of  this  climate  any  more  than  an  unfire- 
proof  copy  of  one  of  your  books  could 
stand  the  caniculars  of  ours." 

His  words  were  soon  to  be  verified,  for 
as  soon  as  he  left  me  the  book  vanished, 
but  whether  it  went  off  into  thin  air  or  was 
127 


THE   ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

repocketed  by  the  departing  Boswell  I  am 
not  entirely  certain. 

"  What  was  it  you  asked  me  about  Sam 
son  and  Goliath  ?"  Boswell  observed,  as 
he  gathered  up  his  manuscript  from  the 
floor  beside  the  Enchanted  Typewriter. 
"Whether  they'd  ever  been  in  Honolulu  ?" 

"No,"  I  replied.  "I  got  a  letter  from 
Hawaii  the  other  day  asking  for  the  re 
sult  of  the  prize-fight  the  day  Kidd  ran 
off  with  the  house-boat." 

"  Oh/'  replied  Boswell.  "That  ?  Why, 
ah,  Samson  won  hands  down,  but  only  be 
cause  they  played  according  to  latter-day 
rules.  If  it  had  been  a  regular  knock-out 
fight,  like  the  contests  in  the  old  days  of 
the  ring  when  it  was  in  its  prime,  Goliath 
could  have  managed  him  with  one  hand ; 
but  the  Samson  backers  played  a  sharp 
game  on  the  Philistine  by  having  the  most 
recentlyamended  Queensbury  rules  adopt 
ed,  and  Goliath  wasn't  in  it  five  minutes 
after  Samson  opened  his  mouth." 

"I  don't  think  I  understand,"  said  I. 

"Plain  enough,"  explained  Boswell. 
128 


A    HAND-BOOK    TO    HADES 

"Goliath  didn't  know  what  the  modern 
rules  were,  but  he  thought  a  fight  was  a 
fight  under  any  rules,  so,  like  a  decent 
chap,  he  agreed,  and  when  he  found  that 
it  was  nothing  but  a  talking-match  he'd 
got  into  he  fainted.  He  never  was  good 
at  expressing  himself  fluently.  Samson 
talked  him  down  in  two  rounds,  just  as 
he  did  the  other  Philistines  in  the  early 
days  on  earth." 

I  laughed.  "  You're  slightly  off  there/' 
I  said.  "That  was  a  stand -up- and -be- 
knocked-down  fight,  wasn't  it  ?  He  used 
the  jawbone  of  an  ass  ?" 

"Very  true/'  observed  Boswell,  "but 
it  is  evident  that  it  is  you  who  are  slightly 
off.  You  haven't  kept  up  with  the  higher 
criticism.  It  has  been  proven  scientifi 
cally  that  not  only  did  the  whale  not  swal 
low  Jonah,  but  that  Samson's  great  feat 
against  the  Philistines  was  comparable 
only  to  the  achievements  of  your  modern 
Senators.  He  talked  them  to  death/' 

"Then  why  jawbone  of  an  ass?"  I 
cried. 

i  129 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

"  Samson  was  an  ass,"  replied  Boswell. 
"  They  prove  that  by  the  temple  episode, 
for  you  see  if  he  hadn't  been  one  he'd 
have  got  out  of  the  building  before  yank 
ing  the  foundations  from  under  it.  I  tell 
you,  old  chap,  this  higher  criticism  is  a 
great  thing,  and  as  logical  as  death  itself." 

And  with  this  Boswell  left  me. 

I  sincerely  hope  that  the  result  of  the 
fight  will  prove  as  satisfactory  to  my 
friend  in  Hawaii  as  it  was  to  me ;  for 
while  I  have  no  particular  admiration  for 
Samson,  I  have  always  rejoiced  to  hear  of 
the  discomfitures  of  Goliath,  who,  so  far 
as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  was  not 
only  not  a  gentleman,  but,  in  addition, 
had  no  more  regard  for  the  rights  of 
others  than  a  member  of  the  New  York 
police  force  or  the  editor  of  a  Sunday 
newspaper  with  a  thirst  for  sensation. 


IX 

SHERLOCK   HOLMES   AGAIN 

I  HAD  intended  asking  Boswell  what 
had  become  of  my  copy  of  the  Baede 
ker's  Hades  when  he  next  returned,  but 
the  output  of  the  machine  that  evening 
so  interested  me  that  the  hand-book  was 
entirely  forgotten.  If  there  ever  was  a 
hero  in  this  world  who  could  compare 
with  D'Artagnan  in  my  estimation  for 
sheer  ability  in  a  given  line  that  hero  was 
Sherlock  Holmes.  With  D'Artagnan  and 
Holmes  for  my  companions  I  think  I  could 
pass  the  balance  of  my  days  in  absolute 
contentment,  no  matter  what  woful  things 
might  befall  me.  So  it  was  that,  when  I 
next  heard  the  tapping  keys  and  dulcet 
bell  of  my  Enchanted  Type-writer,  and, 
131 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

after  listening  intently  for  a  moment, 
realized  that  my  friend  Boswell  was  mak 
ing  a  copy  of  a  Sherlock  Holmes  Memoir 
thereon  for  his  next  Sunday's  paper,  all 
thought  of  the  interesting  little  red- 
book  of  the  last  meeting  flew  out  of  my 
head.  I  rose  quickly  from  my  couch  at 
the  first  sounding  of  the  gong. 

"Got  a  Holmes  story,  eh?"  I  said, 
walking  to  his  side,  and  gazing  eagerly 
over  the  spot  where  his  shoulder  should 
have  been. 

"I  have  that,  and  it's  a  winner,"  he 
replied,  enthusiastically.  "  If  you  don't 
believe  it,  read  it.  I'll  have  it  copied  in 
about  two  minutes." 

"I'll  do  both,"  I  said.  "  I  believe  all 
the  Sherlock  Holmes  stories  I  read.  It 
is  so  much  pleasanter  to  believe  them 
true.  If  they  weren't  true  they  wouldn't 
be  so  wonderful." 

With  this  I  picked  up  the  first  page  of 
the  manuscript  and  shortly  after  Boswell 
presented  me  with  the  balance,  whereon 
I  read  the  following  extraordinary  tale : 
132 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 
A  MYSTERY  SOLVED 

A  WONDERFUL  ACHIEVEMENT   IN  FERRETING 

From  Advance  Sheets  of 

MEMOIRS   I  REMEMBER 

BY 

SHERLOCK  HOLMES,  ESQ. 

Ferreter  Extraordinary  by  Special  Appointment  to  his  Majesty 
Apollyon 

WHO  THE  LADY  WAS  ! 

It  was  not  many  days  after  my  solution 
of  the  Missing  Diamond  of  the  Nizam  of 
Jigamaree  Mystery  that  I  was  called  upon 
to  take  up  a  case  which  has  baffled  at 
least  one  person  for  some  ten  or  eleven 
centuries.  The  reader  will  remember  the 
mystery  of  the  missing  diamond  —  the 
largest  known  in  all  history,  which  the 
Nizam  of  Jigamaree  brought  from  India 
to  present  to  the  Queen  of  England,  on 
the  occasion  of  her  diamond  jubilee.  I 
had  been  dead  three  years  at  the  time,  but, 
by  a  special  dispensation  of  his  Imperial 
133 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

Highness  Apollyon,  was  permitted  to  re 
turn  incog  to  London  for  the  jubilee 
season,  where  it  so  happened  that  I  put 
up  at  the  same  lodging-house  as  that  oc 
cupied  by  the  Nizam  and  his  suite.  We 
sat  opposite  to  each  other  at  table  d'liote, 
and  for  at  least  three  weeks  previous  to 
the  losing  of  his  treasure  the  Indian 
prince  was  very  morose,  and  it  was  very 
difficult  to  get  him  to  speak.  I  was  not 
supposed  to  know,  nor,  indeed,  was  any 
one  else,  for  that  matter,  at  the  lodging- 
house,  that  the  Nizam  was  so  exalted  a 
personage.  He  like  myself  was  travelling 
incog  and  was  known  to  the  world  as  Mr. 
Wilkins,  of  Calcutta — a  very  wise  precau 
tion,  inasmuch  as  he  had  in  his  possession 
a  gem  valued  at  a  million  and  a  half  of 
dollars.  I  recognized  him  at  once,  how 
ever,  by  his  unlikeness  to  a  wood-cut  that 
had  been  appearing  in  the  American  Sun 
day  newspapers,  labelled  with  his  name, 
as  well  as  by  the  extraordinary  lantern 
which  he  had  on  his  bicycle,  a  lantern 
which  to  the  uneducated  eye  was  no  more 
134 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

than  an  ordinary  lamp,  but  which  to  an 
eye  like  mine,  familiar  with  gems,  had  for 
its  crystal  lens  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
the  famous  stone  which  he  had  brought 
for  her  Majesty  the  Queen,  his  imperial 
sovereign.  There  are  few  people  who 
can  tell  diamonds  from  plate-glass  under 
any  circumstances,  and  Mr.  Wilkins,  other 
wise  the  Nizam,  realizing  this  fact,  had 
taken  this  bold  method  of  secreting  his 
treasure.  Of  course,  the  moment  I  per 
ceived  the  quality  of  the  man's  lamp  I 
knew  at  once  who  Mr.  Wilkins  was,  and  I 
determined  to  have  a  little  innocent  di 
version  at  his  expense. 

"It  has  been  a  fine  day,  Mr.  Wilkins," 
said  I  one  evening  over  the  pdte. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  wearily.  "Very — 
but  somehow  or  other  I'm.  depressed  to 
night." 

"Too  bad,"  I  said,  lightly,  "but  there 
are  others.  There's  that  poor  Nizam  of 
Jigamaree,  for  instance  —  poor  devil,  he 
must  be  the  bluest  brown  man  that  ever 
lived." 

135 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

Wilkins  started  nervously  as  I  men 
tioned  the  prince  by  name. 

"  Wh-why  do  you  think  that  ?"  he  asked, 
nervously  fingering  his  butter-knife. 

"  It's  tough  luck  to  have  to  give  away 
a  diamond  that's  worth  three  or  four 
times  as  much  as  the  Koh-i-noor,"  I  said. 
"Suppose  you  owned  a  stone  like  that. 
Would  you  care  to  give  it  away  ?" 

"Not  by  a  damn  sight !"  cried  Wilkins, 
forcibly,  and  I  noticed  great  tears  gather 
ing  in  his  eyes. 

"  Still,  he  can't  help  himself,!  suppose," 
I  said,  gazing  abruptly  at  his  scarf-pin. 
"  That  is,  he  doesn't  know  that  he  can.  The 
Queen  expects  it.  It's  been  announced, 
and  now  the  poor  devil  can't  get  out  of  it — 
though  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Wilkins,  if  I  were 
the  Nizam  of  Jigamaree,  I'd  get  out  of  it 
in  ten  seconds." 

I  winked  at  him  significantly.  He 
looked  at  me  blankly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  added,  merely  to  arouse 
him,  "  in  just  ten  seconds  !  Ten  short, 
beautiful  seconds." 

136 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

"Mr.  Postlethwaite,"  said  the  Nizam — 
Postlethwaite  was  the  name  I  was  travel 
ling  under  —  "Mr.  Postlethwaite/'  said 
the  Nizam  —  otherwise  Wilkins —  "your 
remarks  interest  me  greatly/7  His  face 
wreathed  with  a  smile  that  I  had  never 
before  seen  there.  "I  have  thought  as 
you  do  in  regard  to  this  poor  Indian 
prince,  but  I  must  confess  I  don't  see 
how  he  can  get  out  of  giving  the  Queen 
that  diamond.  Have  a  cigar,  Mr.  Postle 
thwaite,  and,  waiter,  bring  us  a  triple  mag 
num  of  champagne.  Do  you  really  think, 
Mr.  Postlethwaite,  that  there  is  a  way  out 
of  it  ?  If  you  would  like  a  ticket  to  West 
minster  for  the  ceremony,  there  are  a  half- 
dozen/7 

He  tossed  six  tickets  for  seats  among 
the  crowned  heads  across  the  table  to  me. 
His  eagerness  was  almost  too  painful  to 
witness. 

"Thank  you, "said  I,  calmly  pocketing 
the  tickets,  for  they  were  of  rare  value  at 
that  time.  "  The  way  out  of  it  is  very 
simple/7 

137 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Postlethwaite,"  said  he, 
trying  to  keep  cool.  "Ah — are  you  in 
terested  in  rubies,  sir?  There  are  a  few 
which  I  should  be  pleased  to  have  you  ac 
cept" — and  with  that  over  came  a  hand 
ful  of  precious  stones  each  worth  a  fort 
une.  These  also  I  pocketed  as  I  replied: 

"Why,  certainly;  if  I  were  the  Nizam/' 
said  I,  "  I'd  lose  that  diamond." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  came  over 
Mr.  Wilkins's  face. 

"Lose  it?  How?  Where?"  he  asked, 
with  a  frown. 

"Yes.  Lose  it.  Any  way  I  could. 
As  for  the  place  where  it  should  be  lost, 
any  old  place  will  do  as  long  as  it  is 
where  he  can  find  it  again  when  he  gets 
back  home.  He  might  leave  it  in  his  other 
clothes,  or — " 

"  Make  that  two  triple  magnums, 
waiter,"  cried  Mr.  Wilkins,  excitedly,  in 
terrupting  me.  "  Postlethwaite,  you're  a 
genius,  and  if  you  ever  want  a  house  and 
lot  in  Calcutta,  just  let  me  know  and 
they're  yours." 

138 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

You  never  saw  such  a  change  come 
over  a  man  in  all  your  life.  Where  he 
had  been  all  gloom  before,  he  was  now 
all  smiles  and  jollity,  and  from  that  time 
on  to  his  return  to  India  Mr.  Wilkins 
was  as  happy  as  a  school-boy  at  the  be 
ginning  of  vacation.  The  next  day  the 
diamond  was  lost,  and  whoever  may  have 
it  at  this  moment,  the  British  Crown  is 
not  in  possession  of  the  Jigamaree  gem. 

But,  as  my  friend  Terence  Mulvaney 
says,  that  is  another  story.  It  is  of  the 
mystery  immediately  following  this  con 
cerning  which  I  have  set  out  to  write. 

I  was  sitting  one  day  in  my  office  on 
Apollyon  Square  opposite  the  Alexan 
drian  library,  smoking  an  absinthe  cigar 
ette,  which  I  had  rolled  myself  from  my 
special  mixture  consisting  of  two  parts 
tobacco,  one  part  hasheesh,  one  part  of 
opium  dampened  with  a  liqueur  glass  of 
absinthe,  when  an  excited  knock  sounded 
upon  my  door. 

"  Come  in,"  I  cried,  adopting  the  usual 
formula. 

139 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

The  door  opened  and  a  beautiful  woman 
stood  before  me  clad  in  most  regal  gar 
ments,  robust  of  figure,  yet  extremely 
pale.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  seen 
her  somewhere  before,  yet  for  a  time  I 
could  not  place  her. 

"Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes?"  said  she,  in 
deliciously  musical  tones,  which,  singular 
to  relate,  she  emitted  in  a  fashion  sugges 
tive  of  a  recitative  passage  in  an  opera. 

"  The  same,"  said  I,  bowing  with  my 
accustomed  courtesy. 

"  The  ferret  ?"  she  sang,  in  staccato 
tones  which  were  ravishing  to  my  musi 
cal  soul. 

I  laughed.  "That  term  has  been  ap 
plied  to  me,  madame,"said  I,  chanting 
my  answer  as  best  I  could.  "  For  myself, 
however,  I  prefer  to  assume  the  more 
modest  title  of  detective.  I  can  work 
with  or  without  clues,  and  have  never  yet 
been  baffled.  I  know  who  wrote  the  Ju- 
nins  letters,  and  upon  occasions  have  been 
known  to  see  through  a  stone  wall  with 
my  naked  eye.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 
140 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

"Tell  mo  who  I  am  !"  she  cried,  trag 
ically,  taking  the  centre  of  the  room  and 
gesticulating  wildly. 

"  Well  —  really,  madame/'  I  replied. 
"You  didn't  send  up  any  card — " 

"Ah!"  she  sneered.  "This  is  what 
your  vannted  prowess  amounts  to,  eh  ? 
Ha !  Do  yon  suppose  if  I  had  a  card  with 
my  name  on  it  I'd  have  come  to  you  to 
inquire  who  I  am  ?  I  can  read  a  card  as 
well  as  you  can,  Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes." 

"  Then,  as  I  understand  it,  madame/' 
I  put  in,  "  you  have  suddenly  forgotten 
your  identity  and  wish  me  to — " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  have  forgotten 
nothing.  I  never  knew  for  certain  who 
I  am.  I  have  an  impression,  but  it  is  based 
only  on  hearsay  evidence,"  she  interrupted. 

For  a  moment  I  was  fairly  puzzled.  Still 
I  did  not  wish  to  let  her  know  this,  and 
so  going  behind  my  screen  and  taking  a 
capsule  full  of  cocaine  to  steady  my  nerves, 
I  gained  a  moment  to  think.  Returning, 
I  said : 

"  This  really  is  child's  play  for  me, 
141 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

madame.  It  won't  take  more  than  a  week 
to  find  out  who  you  are,  and  possibly,  if 
you  have  any  clews  at  all  to  your  identity, 
I  may  be  able  to  solve  this  mystery  in  a 
day." 

"  I  have  only  three,"  she  answered,  and 
taking  a  piece  of  swan's-down,  a  lock  of 
golden  hair,  and  a  pair  of  silver-tinsel 
tights  from  her  portmanteau  she  handed 
them  over  to  me. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  ask  the  lady  if 
she  remembered  the  name  of  the  asylum 
from  which  she  had  escaped,  but  I  fortu 
nately  refrained  from  doing  so,  and  she 
shortly  left  me,  promising  to  return  at  the 
end  of  the  week. 

For  three  days  I  puzzled  over  the  clews. 
Swan's-down,  yellow  hair,  and  a  pair  of  sil 
ver-tinsel  tights,  while  very  interesting  no 
doubt  at  times,  do  not  form  a  very  solid 
basis  for  a  theory  establishing  the  identity 
of  so  regal  a  person  as  my  visitor.  My 
first  impression  was  that  she  was  a  vaude 
ville  artist,  and  that  the  exhibits  she  had 
left  me  were  a  part  of  her  make-up.  This 
143 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

I  was  forced  to  abandon  shortly,  because 
no  woman  with  the  voice  of  my  visitor 
would  sing  in  vaudeville.  The  more  am 
bitions  stage  was  her  legitimate  field,  if 
not  grand  opera  itself. 

At  this  point  she  returned  to  my  office, 
and  I  of  course  reported  progress.  That 
is  one  of  the  most  valuable  things  I  learned 
while  on  earth — when  you  have  done 
nothing,  report  progress. 

"I  haven't  quite  succeeded  as  yet," 
said  I,  "  but  I  am  getting  at  it  slowly.  I 
do  not,  however,  think  it  wise  to  acquaint 
you  with  my  present  notions  until  they  are 
verified  beyond  peradventure.  It  might 
help  me  somewhat  if  you  were  to  tell  me 
who  it  is  you  think  you  are.  I  could  work 
either  forward  or  backward  on  that  hy 
pothesis,  as  seemed  best,  and  so  arrive  at 
a  hypothetical  truth  anyhow." 

"  That's  just  what  I  don't  want  to  do," 
said  she.  "  That  information  might  bias 
your  final  judgment.  If,  however,  acting 
on  the  clews  which  you  have,  you  confirm 
my  impression  that  I  am  such  and  such  a 
143 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

person,  as  well  as  the  views  which  other 
people  have,  then  will  my  status  be  well 
defined  and  I  can  institute  my  suit  against 
my  husband  for  a  judicial  separation,  with 
back  alimony,  with  some  assurance  of  a 
successful  issue." 

I  was  more  puzzled  than  ever. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  slowly,  "  I  of  course  can 
see  how  a  small  bit  of  swan's-down  and  a 
lock  of  yellow  hair  backed  up  by  a  pair  of 
silver-tinsel  tights  might  constitute  rea 
sonable  evidence  in  a  suit  for  separation, 
but  wouldn't  it — ah — be  more  to  your  pur 
pose  if  I  should  use  these  data  as  establish 
ing  the  identity  of — er — somebody  else  ?" 

"How  very  dense  you  are," she  replied, 
impatiently.  "That's  precisely  what  I 
want  you  to  do." 

"  But  you  told  me  it  was  your  identity 
you  wished  proven,"  I  put  in,  irritably. 

"Precisely,"  said  she. 

"Then  these  bits  of  evidence  are— 
yours  ?"  I  asked,  hesitatingly.  One  does 
not  like  to  accuse  a  lady  of  an  undue  liking 
for  tinsel. 

144 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

"  They  are  all  I  have  left  of  my  hus 
band,"  she  answered  with  a  sob. 

"  Hum  I"  said  I,  my  perplexity  increas 
ing.  "  Was  the — ah — the  gentleman  blown 
up  by  dynamite?" 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Holmes,"  she  retort 
ed,  rising  and  running  the  scales.  "I 
think,  after  all,  I  have  come  to  the  wrong 
shop.  Have  you  Hawkshaw's  address 
handy  ?  You  are  too  obtuse  for  a  detec 
tive." 

My  reputation  was  at  stake,  so  I  said, 
significantly: 

"  Good  !  Good  !  I  was  merely  trying 
one  of  my  disguises  on  you,  madame,  and 
you  were  completely  taken  in.  Of  course 
no  one  would  ever  know  me  for  Sherlock 
Holmes  if  I  manifested  such  dullness." 

"  Ah  !"  she  said,  her  face  lighting  up. 
"You  were  merely  deceiving  me  by  ap 
pearing  to  be  obtuse  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  I.     "I  see  the  whole 

thing   in   a  nutshell.     You   married   an 

adventurer;  he  told  you  who  he  was,  but 

you've  never  been  able  to  prove  it;  and 

K  145 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

suddenly  you  are  deserted  by  him,  and 
on  going  over  his  wardrobe  you  find  he  has 
left  nothing  but  these  articles :  and  now 
you  wish  to  sue  him  for  a  separation  on 
the  ground  of  desertion,  and  secure  ali 
mony  if  possible." 

It  was  a  magnificent  guess. 

"  That  is  it  precisely,"  said  the  lady. 
"  Except  as  to  the  extent  of  his  '  leavings.' 
In  addition  to  the  things  you  have  he  gave 
my  small  brother  a  brass  bugle  and  a  tin 
sword." 

"  We  may  need  to  see  them  later,"  said 
I.  "  At  present  I  will  do  all  I  can  for 
you  on  the  evidence  in  hand.  I  have  got 
my  eye  on  a  gentleman  who  wears  silver- 
tinsel  tights  now,  but  I  am  afraid  he  is 
not  the  man  we  are  after,  because  his  hair 
is  black,  and,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
learn  from  his  valet,  he  is  utterly  unac 
quainted  with  swan's-down." 

We  separated  again  and  I  went  to  the 

club  to  think.     Never  in  my  life  before 

had  I  had  so  baffling  a  case.    As  I  sat  in 

the  cafe  sipping  a  cocaine  cobbler,  who 

146 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

should  walk  in  but  Hamlet,  strangely 
enough  picking  particles  of  swan's-down 
from  his  black  doublet,  which  was  literally 
covered  with  it. 

<(  Hello,  Sherlock  !"  he  said,  drawing  up 
a  chair  and  sitting  down  beside  me. 
"What  you  up  to?" 

"  Trying  to  make  out  where  you  have 
been,"  I  replied.  "I  judge  from  the 
swan's-down  on  your  doublet  that  you  have 
been  escorting  Ophelia  to  the  opera  in 
the  regulation  cloak." 

' '  You're  mistaken  for  once,"  he  laughed. 
"  Fve  been  driving  with  Lohengrin.  He's 
got  a  pair  of  swans  that  can  do  a  mile  in 
2.10 — but  it  makes  them  moult  like  the 
devil." 

"  Pair  of  what  ?"  I  cried. 

"Swans,"  said  Hamlet.  "He's  an  ec 
centric  sort  of  a  duffer,  that  Lohengrin. 
Afraid  of  horses,  I  fancy." 

' '  And  so  drives  swans  instead  ?"  said  I, 
incredulously. 

"  The  same,"  replied  Hamlet.     "  Do  I 
look  as  if  he  drove  squab?" 
147 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"He  must  be  qneer,"said  I.  "I'd  like 
to  meet  him.  He'd  make  quite  an  addition 
to  my  collection  of  freaks." 

"Very  well," observed  Hamlet.  "He'll 
be  here  to-morrow  to  take  luncheon  with 
me,  and  if  you'll  come,  too,you'll  be  most 
welcome.  He's  collecting  freaks,  too,  and 
I  haven't  a  doubt  would  be  pleased  to 
know  you." 

We  parted  and  I  sauntered  homeward, 
cogitating  over  my  strange  client,  and  now 
and  then  laughing  over  the  idiosyncracies 
of  Hamlet's  friend  the  swan-driver.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  at  the  moment  how 
ever  to  connect  the  two,  in  spite  of  the 
link  of  swan's-down.  I  regarded  it  merely 
as  a  coincidence.  The  next  day,  however, 
on  going  to  the  club  and  meeting  Hamlet's 
strange  guest,  I  was  struck  by  the  further 
coincidence  that  his  hair  was  of  precisely 
the  same  shade  of  yellow  as  that  in  my 
possession.  It  was  of  a  hue  that  I  had 
never  seen  before  except  at  performances 
of  grand  opera,  or  on  the  heads  of  fool 
detectives  in  musical  burlesques.  Here, 
148 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

however,  was  the  real  thing  growing  lux 
uriantly  from  the  man's  head. 

"Ho-ho!"  thought  I  to  myself.  "Here 
is  a  fortunate  encounter;  there  may  be 
something  in  it,"  and  then  I  tried  to  lead 
him  on. 

"I  understand,  Mr.  Lohengrin,"  I  said, 
"that you  have  a  fine  span  of  swans." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  and  I  was  astonished 
to  note  that  he,  like  my  client,  spoke  in 
musical  numbers.  "Very.  They're  much 
finer  than  horses,  in  my  opinion.  More 
peaceful,  quite  as  rapid,  and  amphibious. 
If  I  go  out  for  a  drive  and  come  to  a  lake 
they  trot  quite  as  well  across  its  surface  as 
on  the  highways." 

"How  interesting!"  said  I.  "And 
so  gentle,  the  swan.  Your  wife,  I  pre 
sume — " 

Hamlet  kicked  my  shins  under  the 
table. 

"I  think  it  will  rain  to-morrow,"  he 
said,  giving  me  a  glance  which  if  it  said 
anything  said  shut  up. 

"I  think  so,  too,"  said  Lohengrin,  a 
149 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

lowering  look  on  his  face.  "  If  it  doesn't, 
it  will  either  snow,  or  hail,  or  be  clear." 
And  he  gazed  abstractedly  out  of  the 
window. 

The  kick  and  the  man's  confusion  were 
sufficient  proof.  I  was  on  the  right  track 
at  last.  Yet  the  evidence  was  unsatisfac 
tory  because  merely  circumstantial.  My 
piece  of  down  might  have  come  from  an 
opera  cloak  and  not  from  a  well-broken 
swan,  the  hair  might  equally  clearly  have 
come  from  some  other  head  than  Lohen 
grin's,  and  other  men  have  had  trouble  with 
their  wives.  The  circumstantial  evidence 
lying  in  the  coincidences  was  strong  but 
not  conclusive,  so  I  resolved  to  pursue 
the  matter  and  invite  the  strange  indi 
vidual  to  a  luncheon  with  me,  at  which  I 
proposed  to  wear  the  tinsel  tights.  See 
ing  them,  he  might  be  forced  into  betray 
ing  himself. 

This  I  did,  and  while  my  impressions 
were  confirmed  by  his  demeanor,  no  posi 
tive  evidence  grew  out  of  it. 

"  I'm  hungry  as  a  bear  I"  he  said,  as  I 
150 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

entered  the  club,  clad  in  a  long,  heavy 
ulster,  reaching  from  my  shoulders  to  the 
ground,  so  that  the  tights  were  not 
visible. 

"  Good,"  said  I.  "I  like  a  hearty  eater/' 
and  I  ordered  a  luncheon  of  ten  courses 
before  removing  my  overcoat ;  but  not  one 
morsel  could  the  man  eat,  for  on  the  remov 
al  of  my  coat  his  eye  fell  upon  my  silver 
garments,  and  with  a  gasp  he  wellnigh 
fainted.  It  was  clear.  He  recognized 
them  and  was  afraid,  and  in  consequence 
lost  his  appetite.  But  he  was  game,  and 
tried  to  laugh  it  off. 

"  Silver  man,  I  see,"  he  said,  nervously, 
smiling. 

"No/'  said  I,  taking  the  lock  of  golden 
hair  from  my  pocket  and  dangling  it  be 
fore  him.  "  Bimetallist." 

His  jaw  dropped  in  dismay,  but  recov 
ering  himself  instantly  he  put  up  a  fairly 
good  fight. 

"It  is  strange,  Mr.  Lohengrin,"  said  I, 
"  that  in  the  three  years  I  have  been  here 
I've  never  seen  you  before." 
151 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITEK 

"  Fve  been  very  quiet,"  he  said.  "  Fact 
is,  I  have  had  my  reasons,  Mr.  Holmes,  for 
preferring  the  life  of  a  hermit.  A  youth 
ful  indiscretion,  sir,  has  made  me  fear  to 
face  the  world.  There  was  nothing  wrong 
about  it,  save  that  it  was  a  folly,  and  I 
have  been  anxious  in  these  days  of  news 
papers  to  avoid  any  possible  revival  of 
what  might  in  some  eyes  seem  scandal 
ous." 

I  felt  sorry  for  him,  but  my  duty  was 
clear.  Here  was  my  man — but  how  to 
gain  direct  proof  was  still  beyond  me.  No 
further  admissions  could  be  got  out  of 
him,  and  we  soon  parted. 

Two  days  later  the  lady  called  and  again 
I  reported  progress. 

"  It  needs  but  one  thing,  madame,  to 
convince  me  that  I  have  found  your  hus 
band,"  said  I.  "  I  have  found  a  man  who 
might  be  connected  with  swanks-down, 
from  whose  luxuriant  curls  might  have 
come  this  tow-colored  lock,  and  who 
might  have  worn  the  silver-tinsel  tights — 
yet  it  is  all  might  and  no  certainty." 
152 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

"  I  will  bring  my  small  brother's  bugle 
and  the  tin  sword/'  said  she.  "The  sword 
has  certain  properties  which  may  induce 
him  to  confess.  My  brother  tells  me  that 
if  he  simply  shakes  it  at  a  cat  the  cat  falls 
dead." 

"  Do  so,"  said  I,  "  and  I  will  try  it  on 
him.  If  he  recognizes  the  sword  and  re 
members  its  properties  when  I  attempt  to 
brandish  it  at  him,  he'll  be  forced  to  con 
fess,  though  it  would  be  awkward  if  he  is 
the  wrong  man  and  the  sword  should  work 
on  him  as  it  does  on  the  cat." 

The  next  day  I  was  in  possession  of  the 
famous  toy.  It  was  not  very  long,  and 
rather  more  suggestive  of  a  pancake-turner 
than  a  sword,  but  it  was  a  terror.  I  tested 
its  qualities  on  a  swarm  of  gnats  in  my 
room,  and  the  moment  I  shook  it  at  them 
they  fluttered  to  the  ground  as  dead  as 
door-nails. 

"  I'll  have  to  be  careful  of  this  weapon," 

I   thought.     "It  would  be  terrible  if  I 

should  brandish  it  at  a  motor-man  trying 

to  get  one  of  the  Gehenna  Traction  Com- 

153 


THE    ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

pany's  cable-cars  to  stop  and  he  should 
drop  dead  at  his  post/' 

All  was  now  ready  for  the  demonstra 
tion.  Fortunately  the  following  Satur 
day  night  was  club  night  at  the  House- 
Boat,  and  we  were  all  expected  to  come  in 
costume.  For  dramatic  effect  I  wore  a 
yellow  wig,  a  helmet,  the  silver-tinsel 
tights,  and  a  doublet  to  match,  with  the 
brass  bugle  and  the  tin  sword  properly 
slung  about  my  person.  I  looked  stun 
ning,  even  if  I  do  say  it,  and  much  to  my 
surprise  several  people  mistook  me  for  the 
man  I  was  after.  Another  link  in  the 
chain  !  Even  the  public  unconsciously 
recognized  the  value  of  my  deductions. 
They  called  me  Lohengrin! 

And  of  course  it  all  happened  as  I  expect 
ed.  It  always  does.  Lohengrin  came  into 
the  assembly-room  five  minutes  after  I  did 
and  was  visibly  annoyed  at  my  make-up. 

"  This  is  a  great  liberty,"  said  he,  grasp 
ing  the  hilt  of  his  sword;  but  I  answered 
him  by  blowing  the  bugle  at  him,  at  which 
he  turned  livid  and  fell  back.  He  had 
154 


TURN  THAT  INFERNAL  THING  THE  OTHER  WAY!' 

HE  SHRIEKED" 


SHERLOCK    HOLMES    AGAIN 

recognized  its  soft  cadence.  I  then  hauled 
the  sword  from  my  belt,  shook  it  at  a  fly 
on  the  wall,  which  immediately  died,  and 
made  as  if  to  do  the  same  at  Lohengrin, 
whereupon  he  cried  for  mercy  and  fell 
upon  his  knees. 

"Turn  that  infernal  thing  the  other 
way!"  he  shrieked. 

"  Ah  !"  said  I,  lowering  my  arm.  "  Then 
you  know  its  properties  ?" 

"  I  do— I  do  \"  he  cried.  "  It  used  to 
be  mine — I  confess  it !" 

"  Then,"  said  I,  calmly  putting  the  hor 
rid  bit  of  zinc  back  into  my  belt,  "  that's 
all  I  wanted  to  know.  If  you'll  come  up 
to  my  office  some  morning  next  week  Fll 
introduce  you  to  your  wife/'  and  I  turned 
from  him. 

My  mission  accomplished,  I  left  the  fes 
tivities  and  returned  to  my  quarters  where 
my  fair  client  was  awaiting  me. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  It's  all  right,  Mrs.  Lohengrin,"  I  said, 
and  the  lady  cried  aloud  with  joy  at  the 
name,  for  it  was  the  very  one  she  had  hoped 
155 


THE   ENCHANTED    TYPE-WRITER 

it  would  be.  "  My  man  turns  out  to  be 
your  man,  and  I  turn  him  over  therefore 
to  you,  only  deal  gently  with  him.  He's  a 
pretty  decent  chap  and  sings  like  a  bird." 

Whereon  I  presented  her  with  my  bill 
for  5000  oboli,  which  she  paid  without  a 
murmur,  as  was  entirely  proper  that  she 
should,  for  upon  the  evidence  which  I  had 
secured  the  fair  plaintiff,  in  the  suit  for 
separation  of  Elsa  vs.  Lohengrin  on  the 
ground  of  desertion  and  non-support,  ob 
tained  her  decree,  with  back  alimony  of 
twenty- five  per  cent,  of  Lohengrin's  in 
come  for  a  trifle  over  fifteen  hundred  years. 

How  much  that  amounted  to  I  really  do 
not  know,  but  that  it  was  a  large  sum  I  am 
sure,  for  Lohengrin  must  have  been  very 
wealthy.  He  couldn't  have  afforded  to 
dress  in  solid  silver-tinsel  tights  if  he  had 
been  otherwise.  I  had  the  tights  assayed 
before  returning  them  to  their  owner,  and 
even  in  a  country  where  free  coinage  of 
tights  is  looked  upon  askance  they  could 
not  be  duplicated  for  less  than  $850  at  a 
ratio  of  32  to  1. 

156 


CHAPTER  X 
GOLF    IK    HADES 

"  JIM,"  said  I  to  Boswell  one  morning 
as  the  type-writer  began  to  work,  "per 
haps  you  can  enlighten  me  on  a  point 
concerning  which  a  great  many  people 
have  questioned  me  recently.  Has  golf 
taken  hold  of  Hades  yet  ?  You  referred 
to  it  some  time  ago,  and  I've  been  won 
dering  ever  since  if  it  had  become  a  fad 
with  you." 

"  Has  it  ?"  laughed  my  visitor  ;  "  well, 
I  should  rather  say  it  had.  The  fact  is, 
it  has  been  a  great  boon  to  the  country. 
You  remember  my  telling  you  of  the  pro 
jected  revolution  led  by  Cromwell,  and 
Caesar,  and  the  others  ?" 

"I  do,  very  well,"  said  I,  "and  I  have 
157 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

been  intending  to  ask  you  how  it  came 
out." 

"  Oh,  everything's  as  fine  and  sweet  as 
can  be  now,"  rejoined  Boswell,  somewhat 
gleefully,  "and  all  because  of  golf.  We 
are  all  quiet  along  the  Styx  now.  All 
animosities  are  buried  in  the  general  love 
of  golf,  and  every  one  of  us,  high  or  low, 
autocrat  and  revolutionist,  is  hobnobbing 
away  in  peace  and  happiness  on  the  links. 
Why,  only  six  weeks  ago,  Apollyon  was  for 
cooking  Bonaparte  on  a  waffle  iron,  and 
yesterday  the  two  went  out  to  the  Cim 
merian  links  together  and  played  a  mixed 
foursome,  Bonaparte  and  Medusa  playing 
against  Apollyon  and  Delilah." 

"  Dear  me  !  Really  ?"  I  cried.  "  That 
must  have  been  an  interesting  match." 

"It  was,  and  up  to  the  very  last  it  was 
nip-and-tuck  between  ?em,"  said  Boswell. 
"  Apollyon  and  Delilah  won  it  with  one 
hole  up,  and  they  got  that  on  the  put. 
They'd  have  halved  the  hole  if  Medusa's 
back  hair  hadn't  wiggled  loose  and  bitten 
her  caddie  just  as  she  was  holeing  out." 
158 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

"It  is  a  remarkable  game/'  said  I. 
"  There  is  no  sensation  in  the  world  quite 
equal  to  that  which  comes  to  a  man's  soul 
when  he  has  hit  the  ball  a  solid  clip  and 
sees  it  sail  off  through  the  air  towards  the 
green,  whizzing  musically  along  like  a 
very  bird." 

"  True/'  said  Boswell ;  "but  Fm  rather 
of  the  opinion  that  it's  a  safer  game  for 
shades  than  for  you  purely  material  per 
sons." 

"I  don't  see  why/'  I  answered. 

"It  is  easy  to  understand,"  returned 
Boswell.  "  For  instance,  with  us  there  is 
no  resistance  when  by  a  mischance  we 
come  into  unexpected  contact  with  the 
ball.  Take  the  experience  of  Diogenes 
and  Solomon  at  the  St.  Jonah's  Links  week 
before  last.  The  Wiseman's  Handicap  was 
on.  Diogenes  and  Simple  Simon  were  play 
ing  just  ahead  of  Solomon  and  Montaigne. 
Solomon  was  driving  in  great  form.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  seemed  able  to 
keep  his  eye  on  the  ball,  and  the  way  he 
sent  it  flying  through  the  air  was  a  cau- 
159 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

tion.  Diogenes  and  Simple  Simon  had 
both  had  their  second  stroke  and  Solomon 
drove  off.  His  ball  sailed  straight  ahead 
like  a  missile  from  a  catapult,  flew  in  a 
bee-line  for  Diogenes,  struck  him  at  the 
base  of  his  brain,  continued  on  through, 
and  landed  on  the  edge  of  the  green." 

"Mercy!"  I  cried.  "Didn't  it  kill 
him  ?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  retorted  Boswell. 
"  You  can't  kill  a  shade.  Diogenes  didn't 
know  he'd  been  hit,  but  if  that  had  hap 
pened  to  one  of  you  material  golfers 
there'd  have  been  a  sickening  end  to  that 
tournament." 

"  There  would,  indeed," said  I.  "There 
isn't  much  fun  in  being  hit  by  a  golf- 
ball.  I  can  testify  to  that  because  I  have 
had  the  experience,"  and  I  called  to  mind 
the  day  at  St.  Peterkin's  when  I  uncon 
sciously  stymied  with  my  material  self 
the  celebrated  Willie  McGuffin,  the  De 
mon  Driver  from  the  Hootmon  Links, 
Scotland.  McGuffin  made  his  mark  that 
day  if  he  never  did  before,  and  I  bear  the 
160 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

evidence  thereof  even  now,  although  the 
incident  took  place  two  years  ago,  when 
I  did  not  know  enough  to  keep  out  of 
the  way  of  the  player  who  plays  so  well 
that  he  thinks  he  has  a  perpetual  right 
of  way  everywhere. 

"What  kind  of  clubs  do  you  Stygians 
use  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  very  much  the  same  kind  that 
you  chaps  do,"  returned  Boswell.  "Every 
body  experiments  with  new  fads,  too,  just 
as  you  do.  Old  Peter  Stuyvesant,  for  in 
stance,  always  drives  with  his  wooden  leg, 
and  never  uses  anything  else  unless  he 
gets  a  lie  where  he's  got  to." 

"  His  wooden  leg  ?"  I  roared,  with  a 
laugh.  "How  on  earth  does  he  do 
that  ?' 

"  He  screws  the  small  end  of  it  into  a 
square  block  shod  like  a  brassey,"  explained 
Boswell,  "  tees  up  his  ball,  goes  back  ten 
yards,  makes  a  run  at  it  and  kicks  the 
ball  pretty  nearly  out  of  sight.  He  can 
put  with  it  too,  like  a  dream,  swinging  it 
sideways." 

L  161 


THE    ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"But  he  doesn't  call  that  golf,  does 
he  ?"  I  cried. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Boswell. 

"  I  shonld  call  it  football/'  I  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Boswell.  "Not  a 
bit  of  it.  lie  hasn't  any  foot  on  that  leg, 
and  he  has  a  golf-club  head  with  a  shaft 
to  it.  There  isn't  any  rule  which  says  that 
the  shaft  shall  not  look  like  an  inverted 
nine-pin,  nor  do  any  of  the  accepted  au 
thorities  require  that  the  club  shall  be 
manipulated  by  the  arms.  I  admit  it's 
bad  form  the  way  he  plays,  but,  as  Stuy- 
vesant  himself  says,  he  never  did  travel 
on  his  shape." 

"Suppose  he  gets  a  cuppy  lie  ?"  I  ask 
ed,  very  much  interested  at  the  first  news 
from  Hades  of  the  famous  old  Dutchman. 

"  Oh,  he  does  one  of  two  things,"  said 
Boswell.  "He  stubs  it  out  with  his  toe, 
or  goes  back  and  plays  two  more.  Mun- 
chausen  plays  a  good  game  too.  He  beat 
the  colonel  forty-seven  straight  holes  last 
Wednesday,  and  all  Hades  has  been  talk 
ing  about  it  ever  since." 
162 


i  I 

I 


i 

...Ko...^"^ 


OLD    PETER    STU  YVES  ANT,    FOR    INSTANCE,    AL 
WAYS   DRIVES   WITH   HIS  WOODEN   LEG'" 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

"  Who  is  the  colonel  ?"  I  asked,  inno 
cently. 

"Bogey/'  returned  Boswell.  "Didn't 
yon  ever  hear  of  Colonel  Bogey  ?" 

"'Of  course/'  I  replied,  "but  I  always 
supposed  Bogey  was  an  imaginary  oppo 
nent,  not  a  real  one." 

"  So  he  is,"  said  Boswell. 

"  Then  you  mean — 

"I  mean  that  Munchausen  beat  him 
forty-seven  up,"  said  Boswell. 

"  Were  there  any  witnesses  ?"  I  de 
manded,  for  I  had  little  faith  in  Mun- 
chausen's  regard  for  the  eternal  verities, 
among  which  a  golf-card  must  be  num 
bered  if  the  game  is  to  survive. 

"  Yes,  a  hundred,"  said  Boswell.  "  There 
was  only  one  trouble  with  'em."  Here 
the  great  biographer  laughed.  "They 
were  all  imaginary,  like  the  colonel." 

"  And  Munchausen's  score  ?"  I  queried. 

"The  same,  naturally.     But  it  makes 

him  king-pin  in  golf  circles  just  the  same, 

because  nobody  can  go  back  on  his  logic," 

said  Boswell.     "Munchausen  reasoned  it 

163 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

out  very  logically  indeed,  and  largely,  he 
said,  to  protect  his  own  reputation.  Here 
is  an  imaginary  warrior,  said  he,  who 
makes  a  bully,  but  wholly  imaginary, 
score  at  golf.  He  sends  me  an  imag 
inary  challenge  to  play  him  forty -seven 
holes.  I  accept,  not  so  much  because 
I  consider  myself  a  golfer  as  because 
I  am  an  imaginer  —  if  there  is  such  a 
word/' 

"  Ask  Dr.  Johnson/'  said  I,  a  little  sar 
castically.  I  always  grow  sarcastic  when 
golf  is  mentioned. 

"  Dr.  Johnson  be — "  began  Boswcll. 

"  Bos  well !"  I  remonstrated. 

"  Dr.  Johnson  be  it,  I  was  about  to  say," 
clicked  the  type  -  writer,  suavely ;  but 
the  ink  was  thick  and  inclined  to  spread. 
"  Munchausen  felt  that  Bogey  was  en 
croaching  on  his  preserves  as  a  man  with 
an  imagination." 

"I    have    always    considered    Colonel 
Bogey  a  liar,"  said  I.     "  He  joins  all  clubs 
and  puts  up  an  ideal  score  before  he  has 
played  over  the  links." 
104 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

"  That  isn't  the  point  at  all,"  said  Bos- 
well.  "  Golfers  don't  lie.  Realists  don't 
lie.  Nobody  in  polite — or  say,  rather,  ac 
cepted — society  lies.  They  all  imagine. 
Munchanseii  realizes  that  he  has  only  one 
claim  to  recognition,,  and  that  is  based 
entirely  upon  his  imagination.  So  when 
the  imaginary  Colonel  Bogey  sent  him  an 
imaginary  challenge  to  play  him  forty- 
seven  holes  at  golf — " 

"  Why  forty-seven  ?"  I  asked. 

"An  imaginary  number,"  explained 
Boswell.  "  Don't  interrupt.  As  I  say, 
when  the  imaginary  colonel — " 

"I  must  interrupt,"  said  I.  "What 
was  he  colonel  of  ?" 

"A  regiment  of  perfect  caddies,"  said 
Boswell. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  I  replied.  "Imaginary 
in  his  command.  There  isn't  one  perfect 
caddy,  much  less  a  regiment  of  the  little 
reprobates." 

"  You  are  wrong  there,"  said  Boswell. 
"You  don't  know  how  to  produce  a  good 
caddy — but  good  caddies  can  be  made." 
165 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

"How?"  I  cried,  for  I  have  suffered. 
"I'll  have  the  plan  patented." 

"Take  a  flexible  brassey,  and  at  the 
ninth  hole,  if  they  deserve  it,  give  them 
eighteen  strokes  across  the  legs  with  all 
your  strength,"  said  Boswell.  "  But,  as  I 
said  before,  don't  interrupt.  I  haven't 
much  time  left  to  talk  with  you." 

"But  I  must  ask  one  more  question," 
I  put  in,  for  I  was  growing  excited  over  a 
new  idea.  "  You  say  give  them  eighteen 
strokes  across  the  legs.  Across  whose 
legs  ?" 

"  Yours,"  replied  Boswell.  "  Just  take 
your  caddy  up,  place  him  across  your 
knees,  and  spank  him  with  your  brassey. 
Spank  isn't  a  good  golf  term,  but  it  is 
good  enough  for  the  average  caddy ;  in 
fact,  it  will  do  him  good." 

"Go  on,"  said  I,  with  a  mental  resolve 
to  adopt  his  prescription. 

"Well,"  said   Boswell,  "Munchausen, 

having  received  an  imaginary  challenge 

from   an   imaginary  opponent,  accepted. 

He  went  out  to  the  links  with  an  imagi- 

166 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

nary  ball,  an  imaginary  bagful  of  fanciful 
clubs,  and  licked  the  imaginary  life  out  of 
the  colonel." 

"  Still,  I  don't  see,"  said  I,  somewhat 
jealously,  perhaps,  "how  that  makes  him 
king-pin  in  golf  circles.  Where  did  he 
play  ?" 

"  On  imaginary  links,"  said  Boswell. 

"  Poh  !"  I  ejaculated. 

"Don't  sneer,"  said  Boswell.  "You 
know  yourself  that  the  links  you  imagine 
are  far  better  than  any  others." 

"What  is  Munchausen's  strongest 
point  ?"  I  asked,  seeing  that  there  was  no 
arguing  with  the  man — "driving,  ap 
proaching,  or  putting  ?" 

"  None  of  the  three.  He  cannot  put,  he 
foozles  every  drive,  and  at  approaching  he's 
a  consummate  ass,"  said  Boswell. 

"Then  what  can  he  do  ?"  I  cried. 

"  Count,"  said  Boswell.  "  Haven't  you 
learned  that  yet  ?  You  can  spend  hours 
learning  how  to  drive,  weeks  to  approach, 
and  months  to  put.  But  if  you  want  to  win 
you  must  know  how  to  count." 
167 


THE   ENCHANTED   TYPE-WRITER 

I  was  silent,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  realized  that  Munchausen  was  not 
so  very  different  from  certain  golfers  I 
have  met  in  my  short  day  as  a  golfiac, 
and  then  Boswell  put  in: 

"You  see,  it  isn't  lofting  or  driving 
that  wins/'  he  continued.  "  Cups  aren't 
won  on  putting  or  approaching.  It's  the 
man  who  puts  in  the  best  card  who  be 
comes  the  champion." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,"  I  said,  sadly, 
"but  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  Hades  is  as 
badly  off  as  we  mortals  in  that  matter." 

"Golf,  sir,"  retorted  Boswell,  senten- 
tiously,"is  the  same  everywhere,  and  that 
which  is  done  in  our  world  is  directly  in 
line  with  what  is  developed  in  yours." 

"I'm  sorry  for  Hades,"  said  I;  "but  to 
continue  about  golf — do  the  ladies  play 
much  on  your  links  ?" 

"  Well,  rather,"  returned  Boswell," and 
it's  rather  amusing  to  watch  them  at  it,  too. 
Xanthippe  with  her  Greek  clothes  finds  it 
rather  difficult;  but  for  rare  sport  you 
ought  to  see  Queen  Elizabeth  trying  to 
168 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

keep  her  eye  on  the  ball  over  her  ruff  !  It 
is  really  one  of  the  finest  spectacles  you 
ever  saw." 

"But  why  don't  they  dress  properly  ?" 

"Ah,"  sighed  Boswell," that  is  one  of 
the  things  about  Hades  that  destroys  all 
the  charm  of  life  there.  We  are  but 
shades." 

"Granted,"  said  I,  "but your  garments 
can—" 

"  Our  garments  can't,"  said  Boswell. 
"Through  all  eternity  we  shades  of  our 
former  selves  are  doomed  to  wear  the 
shadows  of  our  former  clothes." 

"  Then  what  the  devil  does  a  poor  dress 
maker  do  who  goes  to  Hades  ?"  I  cried. 

"She  makes  over  the  things  she  made 
before,"  said  Boswell.  "  That's  why,  my 
dear  fellow,"  the  biographer  added,  becom 
ing  confidential — "  that's  why  some  people 
confound  Hades  with — ah — the  other 
place,  don't  you  know." 

"Still,  there's  golf  !"I  said;  "and  that's 
a  panacea  for  all  ills.  You  enjoy  it,  don't 
you?" 

169 


THE    ENCHANTED  TYPE -WRITER 

"  Me?"  cried  Boswell.  s-  "Me  enjoy  it? 
Not  on  all  the  lives  in  Christendom.  It  is 
the  direst  drudgery  for  me." 

"Drudgery?"  I  said.  "Bah!  Non 
sense,  Boswell !" 

"  You  forget—"  he  began. 

"Forget?  It  must  be  you  who  forget, 
if  you  call  golf  drudgery." 

"  No,"  sighed  the  genial  spirit.  "  No, 
/don't  forget.  I  remember." 

"  Remember  what?"  I  demanded. 

"That  I  am  Dr.  Johnson's  caddy  !"  was 
the  answer.  And  then  came  a  heart-rend 
ing  sigh,  and  from  that  time  on  all  was  si 
lence.  I  repeatedly  put  questions  to  the 
machine,  made  observations  to  it,  derided 
it,  insulted  it,  but  there  was  no  response. 

It  has  so  continued  to  this  day,  and 
I  can  only  conclude  the  story  of  my  En 
chanted  Type-writer  by  saying  that  I  pre 
sume  golf  has  taken  the  same  hold  upon 
Hades  that  it  has  upon  this  world,  and 
that  I  need  not  hope  to  hear  more  from  that 
attractive  region  until  the  game  has  re 
laxed  its  grip,  which  I  know  can  never  be. 
170 


GOLF    IN    HADES 

Hence  let  me  say  to  those  who  have 
been  good  enough  to  follow  me  through 
the  realms  of  the  Styx  that  I  bid  them  an 
affectionate  farewell  and  thank  them  for 
their  kind  attention  to  my  chronicles. 
They  are  all  truthful;  but  now  that  the 
source  of  supply  is  cut  off  I  cannot  prove 
it.  I  can  only  hope  that  for  one  and  all 
the  future  may  hold  as  much  of  pleasure 
as  the  place  of  departed  spirits  has  held 
for  me.  . 


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BY  FRANK  R.  STOCKTON 


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PASTELS  IN  PROSE.  (From  the  French.) 
Translated  by  STUART  MERRILL.  With  150 
Illustrations  (including  Frontispiece  in  Color) 
by  H.  W.  McVicKAR.  ICmo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PCBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

fW~Any  of  the  above  works  ivill  be  Kent  by  mail,  post- 
ay  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or 
Mnxico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY   HUTU    McENERY    STUART 


IIOKIAH'S  MOURNING,  and  Other  Half-Hour  Sketches. 
Illustrated.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  '25. 

IN    SIMPKINSVILLE.      Character  Tales.      Illustrated. 

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THE  STORY  OF  BABETTE  :   A  Little  Creole  Girl.     II 
lustrated.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 

Mrs.  Stuart  is  one  of  some  half  dozen  American  writers 
who  aro  doing  the  best  that  is  being  done  for  English 
literature  at  the  present  time.  Her  range  of  dialect  is 
extraordinary  ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  not  the  dialect  that 
constitutes  the  chief  value  of  her  work.  That  will  be 
found  in  its  genuineness,  lighted  up  as  it  is  by  superior 
intelligence  and  imagination  and  delightful  humor. — 
Chicago  Tribune.. 

Mrs.  Stuart  is  a  genuine  humorist. — N.  Y.  Mail  and 
Express. 

Few  surpass  Mrs.  Stuart  in  dialect  studies  of  negro  life 
and  character. — Detroit  Free  Press. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

KEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 


nfthe  above,  works  will  be,  sent  by  mail,  post 
n(je  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or 
M'  xico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

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B80ct'54TF 


21-100m-l,  '54  (1887sl6)476 


